f 




ILtbrarp of Dlti :^utl)or0. 



THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF THE 

REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, 

NOW FIRST COMPLETELY EDITED BY 

WILLIAM B. TURNBULL, ESQ. 

or Lincoln's inn, barrister 

AT LAW. 




LONDON: 

JOHN EUSSELL SMITH, 

SOHO SQUARE. 

1856. 



^w 



TO THE 
EEY. CHARLES JOI£N LAPRI]VIAUDAYE 

THIS FIRST COMPLETE COLLECTION OF THE 

POETICAL WORKS 



OF FATHER SOUTHWELL, S. J. 



IS AFFECTIONATELY mSCRIBED 



BY ITS EDITOR. 



CONTEJS^TS. 




Page 

JEEFACE ix 

Memoir xiii 

The Author to his Loving Cousin . . 1 

To the Keader . 3 

Rursus ad eundem 5 

>C Saint Peter's Complaint 7 

Mary Magdalen's Blush 43 

yJMary Magdalen's Complaint at Christ's Death . . 45 

' Times go by Turns 47 

Look Home 49 

Fortune's Falsehood 51 

Scorn not the Least 53 

A Child my Choice . . 55 

57 

60 

62 

66 

68 

69 



IJontent and Rich 
Loss in Delay 
Love's Servile Lot 
liife is but Loss . 
! die alive . . 
bat Joy to Live 

[iife's Death, Love's Life 71 

Lt Home in Heaven 73 

Lewd Love is Loss 75 

[iOve's Garden Grief . 77 

From Fortune's Reach 79 

lA Fancy turned to a Sinner's Complaint . . . . 81 

^David's Peccavi 88 

Sin's Heavy Load 90 

Joseph's Amazement . 92 

New Prince, New Pomp 96 

The Burning Babe 98 



viii CONTENTS. 

Page 

New Heaven, new War 100 

. M^ONi^ 103 

T — The Virgin Mary's Conception 105 

■f^ Her Nativity 106 

Her Espousals 107 

The Virgin's Salutation 108 

The Visitation 109 

The Nativity of Christ 110 

His Circumcision 112 

The Epiphany 113 

The Presentation 115 

r*" The Flight into Egypt 116 

Christ's Return out of Egypt 117 

Christ's Childhood 118 

Christ's Bloody Sweat 119 

Christ's Sleeping Friends 121 

- The Virgin Mary to Christ on the Cross .... 123 

A Holy Hymn 125 

Saint Peter's Afflicted Mind 129 

Saint Peter's Remorse 131 

Man to the Wound in Christ's Side 134 

Upon the Image of Death 136 

A Vale of Tears 139 

The Prodigal Child's Soul Wrack 143 

Man's Civil War 146 

Seek Flowers of Heaven 148 

Additional Poems. 

Decease, Release. Dum Morior, Orior .... 153 

I die without Desert 155 

Of the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar . •. . . 157 

The Death of Our Lady 161 

The Assumption of Our Lady . 162 

Verses appended to the ^' Triumphs over Death " . 163 
Verses prefixed to " Short Rules of Good Life." 

1. To the Christian Reader 165 

2. A Preparative to Prayer 166 

3. The Effects of Prayer 167 

4. Ensamples of our Saviour . . . . . . 168 




PEEFACE. 

HA YE frequently felt surprise and 
regret that no modern and complete 
edition of tlie poetical works of Father 
Southwell should have been submitted 
to the public, especially when of late its taste has 
been directed so much, and so favom^ably, to the 
writers of the sixteenth centmy. And these sen- 
timents have been induced not by a mere natiural 
bias or respect towards the illustrious Society of which 
he was a member (and which I hold in the highest 
veneration, honour, and esteem), but because my ap- 
preciation of the intrinsic worth of the poems them- 
selves is shared by the few hving individuals who 
are conversant with them (for the editions are all of 
exceeding rarity), and has been anticipated by such 
acknowledged critics in that department of our early 
literatm^e as Headly, Warton, Park, and others. It 
was therefore mth no common alacrity that I re- 
sponded to the wish of the respected publisher, that 
I should superintend for his Library of Old English 



X PREFACE. 

Authors the present volume, the text of which I 
have settled and based upon the London edition of 
1634, with the valuable aid of a manuscript pur- 
chased at the sale of the hbrarj of Mr. Heber in 
April, 1836, and now among the additional manu- 
scripts in the British Museum, No. 10,422. It is 
inexphcable why the late Mr. Walter, who, in 1817, 
reprinted St. Peter's Complaint, and who congratu- 
lated himself on having had access to this very ma- 
nuscript, as well as on having procured " the whole 
of our author's printed works, one single tract ex- 
cepted," should have omitted no fewer than thirty- 
seven poems contained in this manuscript, and dif- 
fused through the several early editions, availing 
himself only of three in the manuscript not pre- 
viously published.* The interesting manuscript t 
referred to, if not in the autograph of Southwell, is 
certainly either contemporary with him or very little 
later. A list of all his works and their respective 
editions will be found at the end of the biographical 
sketch which follows these preliminary remarks. The 
only liberty which I have taken, beyond settling the 

* I refrain from criticism on Mr. Walter's text. 

f This manuscript tallies in contents and arrangement 
with the one formerly in the library of the Catholic Church 
at Bury St. Edmunds, noticed in Canon Oliver's Collec- 
tions, but which unfortunately has gone amissing since he 
compiled his biographies. 



PREFACE. xi 

text and ortliograplij, lias been tliat of transfeiTing 
from " St. Peter's Complaint " to the " Mseonise '' 
two small poems, which appear to be more appro- 
priately placed in the latter work. 

I have endeavoured to make the present edition 
as accm-ate and complete as possible ; whether I 
have been successful in the attempt it is for others 
to determine. To use the words of Father South- 
well himself (in his Address to the Eeader prefixed 
to ^^ Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears:") — ^^ Let 
the work defend itself, and every one pass his cen- 
sure as he seeth cause. Many carps are expected, 
when cmious eyes come a-fishing. But the care is 
abeady taken, and Patience waiteth at the table, 
ready to take away, when that dish is served in, and 
to make room for others to set on the desh"ed fruit." 

W. B. T. 

Lincoln's Inn, 
1856. 



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MEMOIR OF THE REV. ROBERT 
SOUTHWELL, S. J. 

)OBEET SOUTHWELL, the third 
son of Eichard Southwell, Esq. of 
Horsham St. Eaith's,* in the county 
of Norfolk, a gentleman of ancient 
family, and ancestor of the present Yiscount South- 
well, was born there about the year 1562, f Wlale 
an infant yet in the cradle, he was stolen by a gipsy 
or vagrant, who substituted for him her own child : 



* The site of the Benedictine priory of Horsham St, 
Faith's, about five miles from Norwich, with the lordship, 
lands, &c. were granted circa 36 Hen. YHI. to Sir Rich- 
ard Southwell of Wood Rising in com. Norfolk, and Edw. 
Ebrington. In 1588 it was held by Richard Southwell 
(father of the poet), and by him sold to Sir Henry Hobart, 
afterwards Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. — Blome- 
JieWs History of Norfolk, by Parkin, x. 441. 

t Pits (who is followed by Fuller) erroneously says that 
he was born in Suffolk : but he adds : — ^' Romse mihi fa- 
miliariter notus erat. In philosophia atque etiam in theolo- 



xiv MEMOIR OF THE 

but the theft was speedily discovered^ and the wo- 
man, apprehended at a short distance from his pa- 
ternal mansion, confessed to have been prompted to 
the crime for the sake of gain. This circumstance 
Southwell gratefully remembered in after years. 
" What/' says he, ^^ if I had remained with the 
vagrant? how abject! how destitute of the know- 
ledge or reverence of God ! in what debasement of 
vice, in what great peril of crimes, in what indu- 
bitable risk of a miserable death and eternal punish- 
ment I should have been !" And his first care on en- 
tering upon his mission was to convert to the Chiu"ch 
the female who had been the instrument of detecting 
the theft.* At the age of fifteen he was sent to Paris 
for education, and his religious instruction was su- 
perintended by Father Thomas Darbyshire, (nephew 
to the celebrated Bishop Bonner), one of the earliest 
Englishmen who became members of the Society of 
Jesus. From his example, he probably derived the 
ardent zeal and desire to enter that distinguished 
order, which is manifested in his beautiful complaint 
of the delay in his admission, — " divulsum ab iilo 
corpore, in quo posita sunt mea vita, mens amor, to- 

gia non poenitendos fecerat progressus. Elegantiam mater- 
nse linguse turn prosa, turn versu satis avide sectabatur. Et 
in patriam missus illud talentum suum et in concionibus et 
in libris scriptis exercuisse non illaudabiliter dicitur." — 
Be Illust, Angli(E Scriptor, ed. 1619, p. 794, 
• Mori, Hist. Prov. Angl. Soc. Jesu, p. 172. 



REV, ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xv 

turn cor meum, omnesque effectus/' — and whicli may 
be seen in the History of the English Mission by 
Father Henry More.* 

It is stated by Bishop Chaloner, in his Memoirs of 
Missionary Priests^ that Southwell was for some 
time an alumnus of the English College at Douay. 
He could not however have long studied there, since , 
he went to Eome, and was received into the Society ■ 
on the Vigil of St. Luke (17th October) 1578, ere he 
had completed his seventeenth year. 

After his reception, he spent a considerable por- 
tion of his noviciate at Tournay, in Belgium, lest, 
being unused to the extreme warmth of Italy, his 
ardent zeal, united to the influence of the atmosphere, 
might have affected or destroyed his constitution.t 
From Tom^nay, retm^ning to Kome, he entered upon 

* Ibid. p. 173. Tanner (Soc. Jesu Martyr, p. 30) thus 
speaks of his love for the Order : — " ^escio an quis alius 
unquam post sanctissimum Parentem ejus Ignatium, ma- 
jorem de Societate Jesu sensum, majorem yocationis suae 

foverit sestimationem, quam Kobertus Southwellus 

Scripsit aliquando in sua ad socios Pomam epistola S. Xa- 
verius, seternum animse suae exitium imprecans, si unquam 
ab amore dilectissimse suae religionis descisceret : si oblitus, 
inquit, yiiero tuiy Societas Jesu, oblivioni detur dextera mea, 
Sedannon sublimes ejus de hoc ordine conceptus adsequa- 
rit, si non superaret Pobertus, clarissimo in Anglia gentis 
Southwellise natus sanguine, ex his sua propria manu con- 
signavit, patebit." 

i " Ne videlicet ardentem Sanctis desideriis juvenem, 
immoderatis Italise sestibus nondum parem, duo in uno 



xvi MEMOIR OF THE 

the course of philosophy and theology ; in which he 
acquitted himself so brilliantly, that, after completing 
his studies, he was appointed Prefect of the English 
^ College there.* 

Having been ordained priest in 1584, his earnest 
desire to devote himself to the cure of souls in Eng- 
land was exemplified in a letter to the General, of 
20th Feb. in the following year, wherein his future 
martyrdom seems rather to have been anticipated, 
than merely referred to as a simple possibility. The 
same dauntless devotion to duty is expressed in ano- 
ther letter to his late spiritual director, from Porto, 
5th July, 1586, while on his way to discharge these 
earnestly-sought functions, to which in that year he 
had been appointed with Father Henry Garnet (him- 

corpore calores opprimerent, utque tarn prseclaris dotibus 
ornato, et qui per ardorem quserendi spem excitaverat ex- 
imia qusedam adipiscendi, non sola Roma nobilitaretur.'^ 
^Ibid, p. 177. 

* " Romam Tornaco rursus vocatus ad philosophos, theo- 
logosque audiendos, neque ingenio, neque industria, neque 
laude studiorum, aut fructu, neque vita cum virtute acta 
cuiquam se passus est esse infer iorem. Et ingenii quidem 
et industriae laus in universse philosophise decretis propug- 
nandis enituit ; turn etiam, cum post decursum theologise 
stadium, aliorum studiis est prsefectus in Anglicano de 
urbe Seminario 5 in quo juventus id temporis copiosissima, 
et ingeniorum varietate, et splendore florentissima non fa- 
cile nisi ab omnibus doctrinse prsesidiis ornato atque in- 
structo ducebatur."— I6i(/. p. 179. 



BEV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. xvii 

self the well knoTNii subsequent martyr), and in com- 
pany with whom he had left Eome on the 8th of May 
previously. These may be seen in Father More's 
History, so frequently referred to.* Southwell and 
his companion reached England on the 7th of July 
following. 

The advent of these distinguished men was dm^ing 
a most disturbed period, when the com-se of pohtical 
intrigues, for and against the unfortunate Queen of 
Scots, had estabhshed a reign of terror over the 
Cathohc community.f Already had seventy priests 
been banished; Francis Throckmorton and Dr. Parry 
had fallen on the scaffold, the gallant confederacy of 
Babington and his friends was rapidly leading them 
to a similar fate, and Philip, Earl of Arundel, was a 
prisoner in the Tower. Great, therefore, was the 
danger which these holy men incmTed by landing ; 
yet they fortunately at that time escaped, and were 
hospitably received and entertained for some months 
in the house of WiUiam, 3rd Lord Yaux of Harrow- 
den,J when the confessor of the Countess of Arun- 
del (wife of Philip aforesaid) chancing to die, Father 



* Pp. 182, 183. 

t As Father More truly says : — " Ea enim erant tem- 
pera in quibus malitia vires omnes suas intendebat ad per- 
niciem, et quidquid vel potentia vel arte poterat, id omne 
et subdole machinabatur, et furore percita exequebatur.'^ 

% At Hackney. 

b 



xviii MEMOIR OF THE 

Southwell was appointed domestic chaplain and con- 
\ fessor to her ladyship in his place. It was while in 
her family that he composed for the Earl's use the 
" Consolation for Catholics/' and the two following 
letters, painfully illustrative of the period and written 
shortly before his own sufferings, which are translated 
from the History of the Persecutions in England, 
by Didacus Yepes, Bishop of Taixazona, lib. v. 
cap. 6, p. 647. 

I. 

" As yet we are alive and well, being unworthy, 
it seems, of prisons. We have oftener sent than 
received letters from your parts, though they are 
not sent without difficulty; and some, we know, 
have been lost. 

" The condition of Catholic recusants here is the 
same as usual, deplorable and full of fears and dan- 
gers, more especially since our adversaries have 
looked for wars. As many of ours as are in chains 
rejoice, and are comforted in their prisons ; and 
they that are at liberty set not their hearts upon it, 
nor expect it to be of long continuance. All, by 
the great goodness and mercy of God, arm them- 
selves to suffer any thing that can come, how hard 
soever it may be, as it shall please our Lord; for 
, whose greater glory and the salvation of their souls, 
they are more concerned than for any temporal losses. 

'^ A little while ago they apprehended two priests, 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. xix 

who have suffered such cruel usages in the prison of 
Eridewell as can scarce be believed. What was 
given them to eat was so Httle in quantity^ and 
withal, so filthy and nauseous, that the very sight of 
it was enough to turn their stomachs. The labours 
to which they obliged them were continual and im- 
moderate, and no less in sickness than in health; 
for with hard blows and stripes they forced them to 
accomplish their task, how weak soever they were. 
Their beds were dirty sti^aw, and their prison most 
filthy. 

'' Some are there hung up, for whole days, by 
the hands, in such manner that they can but just 
touch the ground with the tops of their toes. In 
fine, they that are kept in that prison truly hve in 
lacu miseries et in luto feeds, Psahn xxxix. This 
purgatory we are looking for every hour, in which 
Topchffe and Young, the two executioners of the 
Catholics, exercise all kinds of torments. Eut come 
what pleaseth God, we hope we shall be able to bear 
all in Him that strengthens its. In the mean time 
we pray, that they may he jput to confusion who 
work unjustly : and that the Lord may sjpealc 'peace 
to His jpeople, Psalms xxiv. and Ixxxiv, that, as the 
royal prophet says. His glory may dwell in our land. 
I most humbly recommend myself to the holy sa- 
crifices of your Reverence and of all our friends. 
January 16, 1590." 



XX MEMOIR OF TEE 



II. 

'' We have written many letters^ but, it seems, 
few have come to your hands. We sail in the midst 
of these stormy waves with no small danger ; from 
which, nevertheless, it has pleased our Lord hitherto 
to deliver us. 

" We have altogether, with much comfort, re- 
newed the Vows of the Society, according to our 
custom, spending some days in exhortations and 
spiritual conferences. Ajoeruimus ora, et attraximus 
Spiritum, It seems to me that I see the beginning 
of a religious life set on foot in England, of which we 
now sow the seeds with tears, that others hereafter 
may with joy carry in the sheaves to the heavenly 
granaries. 

" We have sung the Canticles of the Lord in a 
strange land, and in this desert we have sucked 
honey from the rock, and oil from the hard stone. 
But these our joys ended in sorrow, and sudden fears 
dispersed us into different places: but, in fine, we 
were more afraid than hurt, for we all escaped. I, 
with another of ours, seeking to avoid Scylla, had 
like to have fallen into Charybdis ; but, by the mercy 
of God, we passed betwixt them both without being 
shipwrecked, and are now sailing in a safe harbour. 

^' In another of mine I gave an account of the 



BEV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. xxi 

late martyrdoms of Mr. Bayles and of Mr. Horner,* 
and of the edification which the people received 
from their holy ends. With such dews as these the 
Church is watered, ut in stillicidiis hujusmodi Ice- 
tetur germinans, Psal. Ixiv. We also look for the 
time (if we are not unworthy of so great a glory) 
when our day (like that of the hu-ed servant) shall 
come. In the meanwhile I recommend myself very 
much to your Reverence's prayers, that the Father 
of Lights may enlighten us, and confirm us with His 
principal Spirit. Given March 8, 1590. ^ 

One of his earliest cares, upon entering on his 
mission, was to bring back his own father to his re- 
ligious duties. Mr. Southwell, a gentleman of opu- 
lence, had married a lady of the Court, formerly — 
according to More — the instructress of Queen Eliz- 
abeth in the Latin language ; and this connection, 
as well as his wealth (which seldom pays the tm*n- 
pike to heaven), appears to have made him a time- 
server, and, although a believer in the doctrines of the 
Church, an absentee from its observances. From this 
state of enslavement to expediency and mammon, Fa- 
ther Southwell naturally sought to emancipate his 
parent ; and his desire was happily fulfilled, through 
the instrumentality (m^^r aZzo) of a letter printed at the 
end of this Memoir. That which follows it, addressed 

* See Bp. Chaloner's Memoirs of Missionary Priests, i. 
249, ed. 1741. 



xxii MEMOIR OF THE 

to his brother, shews that he also had required and 
received the spiritual attentions of the future martyr. 

Although fully engaged with his sacerdotal duties, 
yet, by his accurate and strict distribution of time. 
Father Southwell was enabled to make his abilities 
conducive both to the intellectual recreation and to 
the spiritual edification of his countrymen ; as the 
contents of the present volume and his other works 
amply shew. These were all composed during his 
residence with Lady Arundel. 

He had in this manner, for six years, pursued, 
with very great success, the objects of his mission, 
when these were abruptly terminated by his foul be- 
trayal into the hands of his enemies in 1592. The 
circumstances were as follow : — 

There was resident at Uxendon,* near Harrow on 

* " The manor of Woxindon, now called Uxendon, in this 
parish, was formerly the property of the Travers family, 
from whom it passed to Sir Nicholas Brembre, about the 
year 1376. Some years afterwards, in consequence of a judg- 
ment against this Sir Nicholas in parliament, it became for- 
feited to the crown, and was granted by King Richard, anno 
1394, in consideration of the sum of <=£40 to Thomas Gode- 
lac and Joan his wife. It seems probable that it passed 
from the family of Godelac to that of Bellamy " (see Ap- 
pendix v.), " in consequence of an intermarriage ; for it ap- 
pears that the Bellamys of Uxendon, who were for many 
years proprietors of this and other large estates in Harrow, 
quartered the arms of Godelac. 

" It is related in the chronicles, that Babington, who, 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxiii 

the Hill, in Middlesex, a CatlioKc family of tlie 
name of Bellamy, whom Southwell was in the habit 
of visiting and providing with rehgious instruction 
when he exchanged his ordinary close confinement 
for a pm^er atmosphere. One of the daughters, 
Ann, had in her early youth exhibited marks of the 
most vivid and unshakeable piety ; but, having been 
committed to the Gatehouse of Westminster, her 
faith gradually departed, and along with it her virtue. 
For, having formed an intrigue with the Keeper of 
the prison, she subsequently married him, and by 
this step forfeited all claim which she had by law or 
favour upon her father. ' In order, therefore, to ob- 
tain some fortune, she resolved to take advantage of 



with other conspirators, had laid a plot against Queen Eli- 
zabeth and the state, in the year 1586, when he found that 
the conspiracy was detected, being a very handsome man, 
disfigured his face with the juice of green walnuts, and 
wandered about in that disguise with his associates till 
they were half-starved, in which condition they were re- 
ceived at Bellamy's house near Harrow, where they were 
at length discovered, and being brought to London, were 
executed with circumstances of unusual severity. Jerome 
Bellamy suffered death also for concealing them ; his bro- 
ther destroyed himself in prison. The manor of XJxendon 
was aliened by the Bellamys to the Page family in the early 
part of the last century, and is now (1795) the property of 
Eichard Page, Esq. of Wimbley." (Lysons' Environs, 
ii. 565.) At present (1856) it belongs to Henry Young, 
Esq. of Sudbury : no vestige of the mansion exists. 



1^' 



xxiv MEMOIR OF THE 

the Act of 27 Elizabeth^ which made the harbouring 
of a priest treason, with confiscation of the oiFender's 
goods. Accordingly she sent a messenger to South- 
well, urging him to meet her on a certain day and 
hour at her father's house, whither he, either in ig- 
norance of what had happened, or under the impres- 
sion that she sought his spiritual assistance through 
motives of penitence, went at the appointed time. 
In the meanwhile, having apprised her husband of 
this, as also of the place of concealment in her 
father's house and the mode of access, he conveyed 
the information to TopclifFe,* an implacable per- 
secutor and denouncer of the Catholics, who, with 
a band of his satellites, surrounded the premises, 
broke open the house, arrested his Keverence, and 
carried him off in open day exposed to the gaze of 
the populace. He was taken in the first instance 
to Topcliffe's house, where during a few weeks he 
was put to the torture ten times with such dreadful 

* See notice of this bloodhound in Lodge's Illustrations 
of British History, ii. p. 125, octavo edition. The mis- 
creant had permission from the Queen's Council to torture 
in any manner, and to any extent short of death, the unfor- 
tunate victims of his generally too successful search. He 
was frequently heard to say that nothing gave him greater 
delight than the torturing and butchering of Catholics ; 
and that, if his power v^^as equal to his will, his dearest 
pleasure would be to blow every Jesuit to powder in the 



REV, ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxv 

severity, tliat Soutliwell, complaining of it to his 
judges, declared in the name of God that death 
would have been more preferable. The manner in 
which he was agonized may be seen in Tanner's 
'' Societas Jesu Martyr." But all was to no pm^- 
pose ; the sufferer maintained an inflexible silence ; 
nothing could shake his constancy, and the tor- 
mentors aflSrmed that he resembled a post rather 
than a man.* He was then transferred to the same 
Gatehouse which was kept by the husband of the 
wretch who had betrayed him ;t and after being 
confined there for two months, was removed to the 
Tower, and thrown into a dungeon so filthy and 
noisome, that, when brought forth at the end of a 
month to be examined, his clothes were covered with 
vermin. Whereupon his father presented a petition 

"•^ As to his fortitude we have the admiring testimony of 
Cecil : — " Let antiquity boast of its Roman heroes and the 
patience of captives in torments : our oyttl age is not in- 
ferior to it, nor do the minds of the English cede to the 
Bomans. There is at present confined one Southwell, a 
Jesuit, who, thirteen times most cruelly tortured, cannot 
be induced to confess anything, not even the colour of the 
horse whereon on a certain day he rode, lest from such in- 
dication his adversaries might conjecture in what house, or 
in company of what Catholics, he that day was." — More, 
ut supra, p. 193. 

t What portion this vile woman received of her father's 
escheated property does not appear; but Father More 
states that he had seen the poor old man in Belgium, ex- 



xxvi MEMOIR OF THE 

to Elizabeth, humbly entreating that if his son had 
committed anything for which by the laws he had 
deserved it, he might suffer death ; if not^ as he 
was a gentleman, he hoped her Majesty would be 
pleased to order that he should be treated as such, 
and not be confined in that filthy hole.* The 
Queen, in consequence, ordered that he should be 
better lodged, and gave his father permission to 
supply him with clothing, necessaries, and books; 
of which latter, the only ones which he asked for were 
\^^ the Bible and the works of St. Bernard. D'uring all 
his protracted confinement, although his sister Mary, 
who was married to a gentleman of the name of Ban- 
nister, had occasional access to him, he never dis- 
coursed of anything but religion.f 

iled and beggared, and dragging out a precarious existence 
on some miserable pittance. This seems somewhat at 
variance with what is said by Lysons in a previous note, 
p. xxiii. 

* Chaloner's Memoirs of Missionary Priests, i. 325, ed. 
1741. 

f From a letter of one John Danyell, addressed to Sir 
Robert Cecil, 5 Aug. 1595 (State Paper Office, Domestic, 
No. 200), it would seem that he was one of the diabolical 
emissaries of the time. He says : — " At the arayment of 
Yorke, Williams and Southwell the Jesuite, John Danyell 
was nomynated to have been the first discoverer of these 
late practizes intended against her hyghness and her do- 
minions, myself standing by. I refere me to the reports 
of my veray good lo. yo^ father, the lievetenant of the 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxvii 

After three years' close detention in the Tower, 
Father Southwell wrote to the Lord Treasurer, Cecil, 
humbly entreating that he might either be brought 
to trial, to answer for himself, or, at least, that his 
friends might have permission to come to see him. 
Whereupon, it is said, that Cecil replied to the effect 
that ^^ if he was in so much haste to be hanged, he 
should have his desire." Be this as it may, on the 
18th of February, 1594-5, he was taken from the 
Tower to Newgate, and thrown into a subterraneous 
dungeon there, (called Limbo from its darkness and 
offensiveness,) where he was detained three days and 
then removed to Westminster for trial. On the 
21st he was placed at the bar, before Chief Justice 



Tower, Mr. Toplyffe and Mr. Justice Young yf he were 
alyve, how reddy 1 was sins my coming to delyver my 
knowledge of all such as came or weare to come for any 
ill entent, and will so contynue while I lyve with^^ respect 
to persons. In case that old George Herbert who was 
with Charles Arrondell beyond the seas be (as I hear say) 
apprehended and comytted to the Tower, he can discover 
as moche as Holt the Jesuite, S. Will°^. Taylor and Hughe 
Owen ; yf he hathe or will not of himselfe like a good sub- 
ject delivir his knowledge plainlie and truelie, and that her 
Matie and yo^. honors be not sufficientlie instructed to 
examyne him uppon certaine points I will deliver y^ honor 
in writing by way of Interrogatory so moche as I know, 
and will confront him or any other for her Maties' service. 
I was never a traytor in any country nor beyond the seas," 
&c. &c. &c. 

i 



xxviii MEMOIR OF THE 

Popham, Justice Owen, Baron Evans, and Sergeant 
Daniel ; Sir Edward Coke, Solicitor General, ap- 
pearing for the prosecution. To the usual question 
Father Southwell, of course, pleaded not guilty to the 
charge of treason, but fully and distinctly admitted 
(his only crime) that he was a priest, and had re- 
turned to his own country simply to administer the 
Sacraments to those of his religion who might desire 
them, and perform the ordinary duties of a clergy- 
man of the Church of Rome. The Chief Justice 
and Coke having, in their accustomed style, ad- 
dressed the Jury, a verdict of guilty, necessarily in 
accordance with the existing statute, was returned, 
A succinct report of the proceedings may be seen in 
the Memoirs of Bishop Chaloner previously referred 
to; the prisoner's noble defence in the history of 
Father More. 

At daybreak of the 22nd the chief jailor apprised 
him that he was to die that morning. Southwell 
embraced him, and said, " You could not bring me 
more joyful tidings. I regret that* I have nothing 
left of greater value, but accept this nightcap as 
evidence of my gratitude." This gift the jailor held 
in such estimation that, while he lived, nothing 
could induce him to part with it. Being placed 
upon a hurdle, he was drawn to the place of execu- 
tion at Tyburn. On arriving there, when unbound, 
he wiped from his face the mud which the jolting 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. xxix 

of tlie sledge had cast upon it, with a neckerchief, 
wliich he threw to one of the Society whom he re- 
cognized in the crowd, by whom it was given to 
Father G-arnet, from whose hands it passed to Acqua- 
viva, at that time General of the Order. He then, 
after making the sign of the Cross, addressed the 
multitude, who, by their silence and decorum, testi- 
fied their admiration of the martyr, in the following 
words, beginning with those of the Apostle : — 

^' ' WTiether we live, we live unto the Lord ; or 
whether we die, we die unto the Lord. Therefore, 
whether we live or whether we die, we are the 
Lord's.' Of which most clement God and Father 
of Mercies, through the blood of Jesus Christ, I in 
the first place crave forgiveness for all things wherein 
I may have offended since my infancy. Then as 
regards the Queen (to whom I have never done nor 
wished any evil), I have daily prayed for her, and 
now with all my heart do pray, that from His great 
mercy, through the wounds and most worthy merits 
of Christ His Son, He may grant that she may use 
the ample gifts and endowments wherewith He has 
endowed her, to the immortal glory of His name, 
the prosperity of the whole nation, and the eternal 
welfare of her soul and body. For my most miserable 
and with all tears to be pitied country, I pray the 
hght of truth, whereby the darkness of ignorance 
being dispelled, it may learn in and above all things 



XXX MEMOIR OF THE 

to praise God, and seek its eternal good in the right 
way. And since I perceive that I am not permitted 
to speak at greater length, I deliver my soul into 
the hands of God my Creator, earnestly beseeching 
Him that He may preserve and strengthen it with 
His grace, and grant it to continue faithful in this 
final conflict. Eor what may be done to my body I 
have no care. But since death, in the admitted 
cause for which I die, cannot be otherwise than most 
happy and desirable, I pray the God of all comfort 
that it may be to me the complete cleansing of my 
sins and a real solace and increase of faith and con- 
stancy to others. For I die because I am a Catholic 
priest, elected into the Society of Jesus in my youth ; 
nor has any other thing, during the last three years 
in which I have been imprisoned, been charged 
against me. This death, therefore, although it may 
now seem base and ignominious, can to no rightly- 
thinking person appear doubtful but that it is beyond 
measure an eternal weight of glory to be wrought in 
us, who look not to the things which are visible, but 
to those which are unseen." 

This speech, firmly delivered, moved the audience 
to much commiseration, notwithstanding the inter- 
ruptions of some of the teachers of Protestant opinions 
among them, whom Southwell rebuked. " What- 
ever," said he, pointing to them^, '' these men may 
say or do, I live and die a Catholic ; this, you who 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. xxxi 

are Catliolics here, I take to witness." Then recol- 
lecting himself, he prepared for his approaching end, 
frequently ejaculating, " Holy Mary, Mother of God, 
and all samts pray for me ; " and, signing himself 
with the cross, " Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend 
my spirit ; thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of 
truth, my God and all ; God he merciful to me a sin- 
ner," (fee. At length, the horses heing started and 
the car removed from under his feet, he continued 
to heat his hreast and make the sign of the cross, 
until the executioner, who had so awkwardly apphed 
the noose as to prevent his speedy strangulation, 
pulled him by the legs to ease his agony. The 
martyr's behaviour had such an effect on the specta- 
tors, that when, in terms of his sentence, the exe- 
cutioner wished to cut him down alive, neither they 
nor the magistrate who superintended the judicial 
murder would permit him to do so. T^lien he was 
dead, his countenance exhibited no change, neither 
did the halter leave its ordinary marks of discolora- 
tion ; and when his body was partitioned, the heart 
leaped from the dissector's hand, and, by its throb- 
bing, seemed to repel the flames, as if expressing 
v^'ith the Psalmist, " My heart and my flesh shall 
exult in the living God." Lord Mountjoy* who 
happened to be present, was so struck by the mar- 

* Charles Blount, 8th Baron Mountjoy. 



xxxii MEMOIR OF THE 

/tjr's constancy, that he exclaimed, " May my soul be 

/ with this man's ! " and he assisted in restraining 

those who would have cut the rope while he was still 

in life. 

Such, at the age of thirty-three, was the end of 
this excellent soldier of the cross, and most devoted 
member of the Society of Jesus ; the victim of a bar- 
barous law, vainly devised to destroy what is inde- 
structible — ^the work of God. In blood the Church 
was planted ; with blood it has been watered ; and 
its fecundity has ever been the greater in proportion 
to the efforts made to eradicate it. The seed sown 
by persecution in the three last centuries, begins in 
the present to bring forth fruit an hundred fold. 

After Southwell's death, one of his sisters, a Ca- 
tholic in heart, but timidly and blameably simulating 
heresy, wrought, with some reliques of the martyr, 
several cures on persons afflicted with desperate and 
deadly diseases, which had baffled the skill of all 
physicians.* Thus God, in his usual manner, honours 
his saints. 

Of Father Southwell no authentic portrait, so far 
as I know, is in existence. Lord Viscount Southwell 
possesses an original manuscript, but it merely con- 
tains a translation into Italian of the rules of the 
society, some short prayers in Latin, and a summary 

* Tanner, Soc. Jesu Martyr, p. 37. 



BEV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxxiii 

of those virtues which he seems to have practised 
on stated days. For this information I am indebted 
to the obliging attention of the Eev. WilHam Water- 
worth, S. J. 

By favom- of the Et. Hon. Sir George Grey, I 
have had access to the documents in the State Paper 
Office, whereby I am enabled to subjoin Xos. III. 
and lY. of the Appendix. From the gentlemen con- 
nected with that department of the public service I 
have experienced every courtesy.* 

The first who in recent times reintroduced to no- 
tice those poems of Southwell, which, with his other 
writings, were, at an earlier date, so popular,t was 
Mr. Francis Godolphin Waldron, an actor at Drmy 
Lane in the time of Garrick,J who, in 1783, in an 
appendix to his edition of Ben Jonson's " Sad Shep- 
herd," gave a few specimens of them. These were 
subsequently included in Mr. Headley's '^ Select 
Beauties of English Poetry," published in the same 
year. Since then they have formed the subject of 

* The Books of the Privy Council, from 26th Aug. 1593 
to 9th March 1595, were unfortunately consumed by fire 
in 1613. In the volume which intervenes from the time of 
Southwell's arrest to the former date, no notice of him 
occurs. 

t Father Henry More says of them, '• hodie cum voiup- 
tate teruntur." 

X !Nichols' Literary Anecdotes, viii. 136. 
c 



xxxiv MEMOIR OF THE 

essays, by Mr. Park, in the Gentleman's Maga- 
zine for November, 1798, by Mr. Haslewood in the 
Censura Literaria, II. 64, and in the Retrospective 
Eeview, lY. 267. That they met with due appre- 
ciation by our ancestors is proved, not only by the 
numerous editions through which they passed, but 
by their being glanced at, in a marked manner, by 
Dr. Hall, the protestant bishop of Norwich, in the 
8th Satire of the First Book of his " Yirgidemia- 
rum," first printed in 1597, two years after their 
author's martyrdom, when presuming to ridicule the 
sacred poetry of his time, he says : — 

" Parnassus is transform'd to Sion-Hill, 
And Jewry-palms her steep ascents doon fill. 
Now good St. Peter weeps pure Helicon, 
And both the Marys make a music-moan.'* 
Ed, Singer, p. 21. 

But Dr. Hall's antagonist, the mordant Marston, 
avenges the pious Father in these terms : — 

" Come dance, ye stumbling satyrs, by his side, 

If he list once the Sion muse deride. 

Ye Granta's white nymphs come, and with you bring, 

Some syllabub, whilst he doth sweetly sing 

'Gainst Peter's tears, and Mary's moving moan. 

And, like a fierce enraged bear, doth foam 

At sacred sonnets." 

Certain Satires, 1598. Sat. iv. 

The following, it is beheved, is an accurate list of 
Father Southwell's works and of their editions, with 



REV, ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxxy 

the authorities for most, as no bibliographer, perhaps, 
can say that he has seen them all. 

A Consolation for Catholics imprisoned on accomit 
of Eeligion. Printed at St. Omer's. Xo date. 
(Dodd's Church History.) This is probably iden- 
tical with An Epistle of Comfort to the Eey. Priests, 
and to the Honoui-able, Worshipful, and others of the 
Lay Sort, restrayned in Dm-ance for the Catholic 
Faith. Printed with Licence. 1605. Xo place. 

A Supplication to Queen EKzabeth. London, 
1593. (Dodd.) Query, May this not be the pe- 
tition by his father, noticed in the Memoh, supra, 
p. xxvi? 

Saint Peter's Complaint, with other Poems. Im- 
printed by J. Wolfe. London, 1595, 4to. A copy 
of this is in the Hbrary of Jesus College, Oxford. 

The same. Imprinted by James Eoberts for 
Gabriel Cawood. London, 1595. 

The same. London and St. Omer's, 1597, (Dodd.) 

The same. Imprinted by J[ames] E[oberts] for 
G[abriel] C[awood]. London, 1599. 

The same, newly augmented T\dth other Poems. 
Imprinted by H. L. for W. Leake. London. Ko 
date. 

The same, newly augmented, &c. Printed by 
W. Stainsby for W. Barret. London, 1615. 

The same, with St. Mary Magdalen's fimerail 
Teares, and sundry other selected and devout Poemes, 



xxxvi MEMOIR OF THE 

by the E. Father Eobert Southwell, Priest of the So- 
ciety of Jesus. Permissu Superiorum. St. Omers, 
or Douay, 1620. This has annexed to it " The 
Christian's Manna/' a poem not in any other edition. 
But Mr. Park considers it " has no legitimate claim 
to be considered as his production." On this point 
I am neither able myself to form an opinion, nor giv.e 
others an opportunity for doing so ; since, in spite of 
every effort, I have been unable to find a copy of the 
edition.* 

The same, with the Triumphs over Death, and 
short rules of good Life. Printed for W. Barret 
and J. HavHand. London, 1620, 1630, 1634. 
Barret dedicates his editions 

" To the Bight Honourable Richard, f Earl 

of Dorset, <fec. 

" My Lord. — The entertainment which this work 
in the several parts thereof hath formerly found with 
men of exact judgment, may be a sufficient testi- 

* Eitson, Bib. Poet. 341, note. 

t Bichard Sackville, Srd Earl of Dorset, second son of 
Robert, 2nd Earl, by his first wife, Margaret, only daugh- 
ter of Thomas Howard, 4th Duke of Norfolk of that name. 
It was on the occasion of her death that Southwell com- 
posed his " Triumphs over Death," dedicated, by the pub- 
lisher, " to the Worshipful Mr. Richard Sackville, Edward 
Sackville, Cecily Sackville, and Anne Sackville, the hope- 
ful issues of the honourable gentleman Master Robert 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxxvli 

monj, that it is not (now) offered unto your Lord- 
ship, for that it stands in need of protection (the usual 
apology of every trivial pamplileteer) much less to 
emendieate any other's su&ages, beyond the known 
worth thereof : the only reason of this present bold- 
ness, and my excuse for thus presuming to recom- 
mend it to your honourable hands, being, that as the 
Author thereof had long since dedicated some pieces 



Sackville, Esquire, — " the " particular branches of that 
noble stock" referred to above, in the following Knes : — 

" Most lines do not the best conceits contain, 

Few words, weU couch'd, may comprehend much 
matter : 

Then as to use the first is counted vain, 
So is't praise-worthy to conceit the latter. 

The gravest wits that must grave works expect, 

The quality, not quantity, respect. 

The smallest spark will cast a burning heat, 
Base cottages may harbour things of worth 5 

Then, though this volume be nor gay nor great, 
Which under your protection I set forth. 

Do not, with coy, disdainful oversight, 

Deny to read this weU-meant orphan's mite. 

And since his father in his infancy. 

Provided patrons to protect his heir. 
But now, by Death's none-sparing cruelty. 

Is turn'd an orphan to the open air ; 
I, his unworthy foster-sire, have dar'd 
To make you patronizers of this ward. 



xxxviii MEMOIR OF THE 

of the whole to sundry particular hranches of that 
noble stock and family whereof your Lordship is, 
(and long may you be a strong and flourishing arm !) 
so now myself having first collected these dismem- 
bered pamphlets into one body, and published them in 
an entire edition, I held it a kind of sacrilege to de- 

You, glorying issues of that glorious dame, 
Whose life is made the subject of Death's will, 

To you, succeeding hopes of mother's fame, 
I dedicate this fruit of Southwell's quill. 

He for your uncle's* comfort first it writ, 

I, for your consolation, print and send you it. 

Then deign in kindness to accept the work, 
Which he in kindness writ, I send to you ; 

The which, till now, clouded, obscure did lurk, 
But now, opposed to each reader's view. 

May yield commodious fruit to every wight. 

That feels his conscience prick'd by Parcse's spite. 

But if in aught I have presumptuous been, 
My pardon-craving pen implores your favour : 

If any fault in print be pass'd unseen. 
To let it pass the printer is the craver. 

So shall he thank you, and I, by duty bound, 

Pray that in you may all good gifts abound. 

S. W. 

Waldron supposed these verses to have been composed 
by Southwell, and the initials to denote their author's 
name, — South-Well . 



* Thomas Howard, afterwards Earl of SufiPolk. 



BEV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, xxxix 

fraud your noble name of tlie right which you may 
so justly challenge thereunto^ which by the sunshine 
of your favour shall be as it were re -animated, and 
he encouraged to further endeavours, who in the 
meantime is 

At your Lordship's service, 

W. Barbet." 

The same. Printed by John Wreittoun. Edin- 
burgh, 1634. A unique copy of this edition, un- 
known to bibliographers, which had formerly been 
in the possession of Mr. George Chalmers, was pur- 
chased by Mr. J. E. Smith, at Sotheby's in June 
last, for c£3, bs. It is in quarto, unpaged, Sig. A 2, 
E 2, and consists of Title, To the Eeader, St. Peter's 
Complaint, and the small poem " Content and Eich." 

The same, and other Poems. Printed by Eobert 
Waldegrave. Edinburgh, 1660. 4to. 

The same, and other Poems, reprinted from the 
edition of 1595, with important additions from an 
original manuscript, and a sketch of the Author's 
hfe, by Mr. W. J.Walter. Longman, London, 1817. 
12mo. Of this, ^^j copies are on large paper. 

Mseonise ; or certaine excellent Poems and Spiri- 
tual! Hymnes, omitted in the last impression of Pe- 
ter's Complaint; being needeful theremito to be an- 
nexed, as being both divine and wittie. All com- 
posed by E. S. Imprinted by Yalentine Sims for 



xl MEMOIR OF THE 

J. BusMe. London, 1595. The " Poems on the 
Mystery of Christ's Life." London, 1595, men- 
tioned by Dodd, are probably the same as Mseonise. 

The same. London, 1596. (Herbert, Typogr. 
Antiquities.) 

The same. London, 1597. (Wood, Athense 
Oxonienses.) 

The Triumphs over Death; or, a Consolatorie 
Epistle for afflicted Minds, in the Affects of dying 
Friends. First written for the Consolation of one, 
but now published for the Generall Good of all, by 
E. S. Imprinted by V. Simmes for J. Busbie. 
London, 1595. (Herbert, Typogr. Antiq.) 1596. 
See notice of this work, supra, 

Eules of a good Life ; with a Letter to his Father. 
St. Omers and Douay. No date. (Dodd.) These 
" Short Kules" are dedicated " To my dear affected 
friend M. D. S. Gentleman," whom a manuscript 
note on the edition of 1634, now before me, explains 
as " Mr. Dubers Snell of Buckingham." 

Marie Magdalen's funerall Teares. Printed for 
W. Leake. London, 1609. 

The same. Douay. No date. (Dodd.) 

The same. With some Alterations to make it read 
easy, by the Eev. W. Tooke. (Some of Dr. Watts' 
short poems are annexed.) London, 1772. 

The same. Beprinted by Baldwyn. London, 
1823. Square 12mo. 



REV. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. xli 

The same. Included in the Prose Works, edited 
hj W. J. Walter. London, 1828. 12mo. 

Two epistles in the work of Didacus Yepes, Bishop 
of Tarrazona, De Persecutione Anglise, Lib. 5, c. 6. 
Printed both bj Dr. Chaloner and Mr. Walter, and 
reprinted supra. 

In the Bodleian Library is '^ E. Southwell's Epis- 
tle to his Father/' printed by Mr. Walter, and like- 
wise reprinted in the present edition. Ko. I. of 
Appendix. 

A Letter to his Brother, from the manuscript then 
in possession of INIr. Heber, was printed by ]Mr. Wal- 
ter in his edition of St. Peter's Complaint, and is 
here reprinted. Xo. II. of Appendix. 

According to Father John Gerard, his intimate 
friend, Southwell's works were originally printed in 
his o^^TL house in London. " P. Southwellus qui in 
modo juvandi et lucrandi animos excelluit, totus pru- 
dens et pius, mansuetus etiam et amabilis .... in 
domo sua Londini Prelum habuit ad imprimendos 
libros sues, quos quidem edidit egregios." For this 
information, extracted fr^om the manuscript auto- 
biography of F. Gerard, we are indebted to the Very 
Eeverend Dr. Oliver, Provost of the Diocese of Ply- 
mouth. See his communication to the Catholic 
Magazine for September, 1832. 

A Manuscript by Southwell, hitherto unprinted, is 
in the possession of my friend Mr. Charles Dolman 



xlii MEMOIR OF SOUTHWELL. 

of 61, New Bond Street. It is entitled " The Hun- 
dred Meditations of the Love of God," and is prefaced 
bj a letter '' To the Eight Hon^^® and virtuous Lady 
the Lady Beauchamp." This vras Honora, daugh- 
ter of Sir Eichard Eogers of Brianston, co. Dorset, 
Knt. who married Edward Lord Beauehamp, eldest 
surviving son of Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, 
eldest son and heir of Edward, 1st Duke of Somer- 
set. I hope some day to have the pleasure of seeing 
through the press this beautiful volume, as well as 
the other prose writings of the martyr. 



A. M. D. G. 



xliii 



APPENDIX. 

No. I. 

To the worsMpful Ms very good father Mr, R. S. 
his dutiful son B. S, ivisheth all happiness, 

IN" children of former ages it hath been thought 
so behoyeful a point of duty to their parents, in 
presence by serviceable offices, in absence by other 
effectual significations, to yield proof of their thankful 
minds, that neither any child could omit it without 
touch of ungratefulness, nor the parents forbear it 
without nice displeasiu:e. But now we are fallen 
into sore calamity of times, and the violence of 
heresy hath so crossed this course both of virtue and 
nature, that these ingrafted laws, never infringed 
by the most savage and brute creatures, cannot of 
God's people without peril be observed. I am not 
of so unnatural a kind, of so wild an education, or 
so unchristian a sphit, as not to remember the root 
out of which I branched, or to forget my secondary 
maker and author of my being. It is not the care- 
lessness of a cold affection, nor the want of a due and 
reverent respect that has made me such a stranger 
to my native home, and so backward in defraying 



xliv APPENDIX. 

the debt of a thankful mind, but only the iniquity of 
these days, that maketh my presence perilous, and 
the discharge of my duties an occasion of danger. 
I was loth to inforce an unwilling courtesy upon 
any, or, by seeming officious, to become offensive ; 
deeming it better to let time digest the fear that my 
return into the realm had bred in my kindred, than 
abruptly to intrude myself, and to purchase their 
danger, whose good will I so highly esteem. I 
never doubted but that the behef, which to all my 
friends by descent and pedigree is, in a manner, 
hereditary, framed in them a right persuasion of my 
present calling, not suifering them to measure their 
censures of me by the ugly terms and odious epithets 
wherewith heresy hath sought to discredit my func- 
tions, but rather by the reverence of so worthy a 
sacrament, and the sacred usages of all former ages. 
Yet, because I might easily perceive by apparent 
conjectures, that many were more willing to hear of 
me than fr-om me, and readier to praise than to use 
my endeavours, I have hitherto bridled my desire to 
see them by the care and jealousy of their safety ; 
and banishing myself from the scene of my cradle 
in my own country, I have lived like a foreigner, 
finding among strangers that which, in my nearest 
blood, I presumed not to seek. But now, considering 
that delay may have qualified fear, and knowing my 
person only to import danger to others, and my 



APPENDIX. xlv 

persuasion to none but to myself, I thought it high 
time to utter my sincere and dutiful mind, and to 
open a vent to my zealous affection, which I have so 
long smothered and suppressed in silence. For not 
only the original law of nature wiitten in all chil- 
dren's hearts, and derived from the breast of their 
mother, is a continual sohcitude m^ging me in your 
belialf, but the sovereign decree enacted by the 
Father of heaven, ratified by his Son, and daily 
repeated by the instinct of the Holy Ghost, bindeth 
every child in the due of Christianity to tender the 
^tate and welfare of his parents, and is a motive that 
alloweth no excuse, but of necessity presseth to per- 
formance of duty. Katm^e by grace is not abolished, 
nor destroyed, but perfected; neither are the im- 
pressions razed or annulled, but suited to the ends 
of grace and nature. And if its affections be so 
forcible, that even in hell, where rancour and despite, 
and all feelings of goodness are overwhelmed by 
malice, they moved the rich glutton, by experience 
of his own misery, to have compassion of his kindred, 
how much more in the Chm^ch of God, where grace 
quickeneth, charity inflameth, and nature's good 
inclinations are abetted by supernatural gifts, ought 
the like piety to prevail. And, who but those more 
merciless than damned creatm^es, would see theu^ 
dearest friends plunged in the like perils, and not be 
wounded by deep remorse at their lamentable and 



xlvi APPENDIX. 

imminent hazard ? If in beholding a mortal enemy 
wrought and tortured with deadly pains, the strongest 
heart softeneth with some sorrows ; if the most frozen 
and fierce mind cannot but thaw and melt with pity 
even when it knows such person to suffer his deserved 
torments ; how much less can the heart of a child 
consider those that bred him into this world, to be in 
the fall to far more bitter extremities, and not bleed 
with grief at their uncomfortable case. Surely, for 
mine own part, though I challenge not the preroga- 
tive of the best disposition, yet am I not of so harsh 
and churlish a humour, but that it is a continual 
corrective and cross unto me, that, whereas my en- 
deavours have reclaimed many from the brink of 
perdition, I have been less able to employ them, 
where they were most due ; and was barred from 
affording to my dearest friends that which hath been 
eagerly sought and beneficially obtained by mere 
strangers. Who hath more interest in the grape 
than he who planted the vine ? who more right to 
the crop than he who sowed the corn ? or where can 
the child owe so great service as to him to whom he 
is indebted for his very life and being ? With young 
Tobias I have travelled far, and brought home a 
freight of spiritual substance to enrich you, and 
medicinable receipts against your ghostly maladies. 
I have, with Esau, after long toil in pursuing a long 
and painful chace, returned with the full prey, you 



APPENDIX. xlvii 

were wont to love ; desiring thereby to insure your 
blessing. I have in this general famine of all true 
and Christian food, with Joseph, prepared abundance 
of the bread of angels for the repast of your soul. 
And now my desire is that my drugs may cure you, 
my prey dehght you, and my provision feed you, by 
whom I have been cured, enlightened, and fed myself; 
that your courtesies may, in part, be countervailed, 
and my duty, in some sort, performed. Despise 
not, good Sire, the youth of your son, neither deem 
your God measureth his endowments by number of 
years. Hoary senses are often couched under youthful 
locks, and some are riper in the spring, than others 
in the autiunn of their age. God chose not Esau 
himself, nor his eldest son, but young David to con- 
quer Goliah and to rule his people : not the most 
aged person, but Daniel, the most iimocent youths 
delivered Susannah from the iniquity of the judges. 
Christ, at twelve years of age, was found in the 
temple questioning with the greatest doctors. A 
true Elias can conceive, that a little cloud may cast 
a large and abundant shower; and the scripture 
teacheth us, that God unveileth to little ones that 
which He concealeth from the wisest sages. His 
truth is not abashed by the minority of the speaker : 
for out of the mouths of infants and sucklings He 
can perfect His praises. Timothy was young, and 
yet a prmcipal pastor : St. John, a youth, and yet 



xlviii APPENDIX. 

an apostle ; yea, and the angels by appearing in 
youthful semblance, gave us a proof that many glo- 
rious gifts may be shrouded under tender shapes. 
All this, I say, not to claim any privileges sur- 
mounting the rate of usual abilities, but to avoid all 
touch of presumption in advising my elders ; seeing 
that it hath the warrant of scripture, the testimony 
of example, and sufficient grounds both in grace and 
nature. There is a diversity in the degrees of carnal 
consanguinity; and the pre-eminence appertaineth 
unto you, as superior over your child : yet if you 
consider our alliance in the chief portion, I mean 
the soul, which differenceth man from inferior crea- 
tures, we are of equal proximity to our heavenly 
Father, both descended from the same parent, and 
with no other distance in our degrees, but that you 
are the eldest brother. Seeing, therefore, that your 
superiority is founded on flesh and blood, think it, I 
pray you, no dishonour to your age, nor disparage- 
ment to your person, if, with all humility, I ofifer 
my advice unto you. One man cannot be perfect in 
all qualities, neither is it a disgrace to the goldsmith 
if he be ignorant of the carpenter's trade ; many are 
deep lawyers, and yet small divines : many very clever 
in feats of body, and curious in external accomplish- 
ments, yet little experienced in matters of mind. 
For these many years I have studied and practised 
spiritual medicine, acquainting myself with the beat- 



APPENDIX. xlix 

ing and temper of every pulse, and travailing in the 
cure of maladies incident to souls. If, therefore, I 
proffer jou the fruit of mj long studies, and make 
you a present of my profession, I hope you Tvill 
construe it rather as a dutiftd part, than as any point 
of presumption. He may be a father to the soul 
that is a son to the body, and requite the benefit of 
his temporal life by reviving his parent from a spi- 
ritual death. And to this effect did Christ say. My 
mother and hrethren are they that do the ivill of my 
Father ivhich is in heaven : upon which words St» 
CHmacus shows on what kindred a Christian ought 
chiefly to rely. " Let him," he says, " be thy Father, 
that both can and will disburthen thee of the weio^ht 
of thy sins." Such a father as tliis Saint speaketh 
of, may you have in yom^ own son, to enter your 
family in the pre -recited affinity ; of which, happily 
it was a significant presage, a boding of the future 
event, that, even fi^om my infancy, you were wont, 
in merriment, to call me your father : noAV this is 
the customary style allotted to my present estate.* 
Xow, therefore, to join issue and to come to the 
principal drift of my discourse : most humbly and 
earnestly I am to beseech you, that, both in respect 
of the honour of God, your duty to His Church, the 
comfort of your children, and the redress of your 

* Being a Father of the Society of Jesus. 
d 



1 APPEN]5lX. 

own soul, you would seriously consider the terms you 
stand in, and weigh yourself in a Christian balance, • 
taking for your counterpoise the judgments of God. 
Take heed in time, that the word Thekel, written 
of old against Balthazar and interpreted by young 
Daniel, he not verified in you ; remember the expo- 
sition, " you have been weighed in the balance and 
found wanting." Kemember that you are in the 
balance, that the date of your pilgrimage is well 
nigh expired, and that it now behoveth you to look 
forward to your country. Your strength languisheth, 
your senses become impaired, and your body droop- 
eth, and on every side the ruinous cottage of your 
faint and feeble flesh threateneth a fall. Having so 
many harbingers of death, to pre-admonish you of 
your end, how can you but prepare for so dreadful a 
stranger. The young may die quickly, but the old 
cannot live long. The young man's life by casualty 
may be abridged, but the old man's life can by no 
physic be long augmented. And, therefore, if green 
years must sometimes think of the grave, the thoughts 
of sere age should continually dwell on the same. 
The prerogative of infancy is innocency ; of child- 
hood, reverence ; of manhood maturity, and of age 
wisdom ; and seeing that the chief property of wis- 
dom is to be mindful of things past, careful of things 
present, and provident of things to come, use now 
the privilege of nature's talent to the benefit of your 



APPENDIX, 11 

soul, and strive hereafter to be wise in well-doing, 
and watchful in foresight of fiiture harms. To serve 
the world you are now unable, and, though you were 
able, you have little wish to do so, seeing that it 
never gave you but an unhappy welcome, a hurtful 
entertainment, and now doth abandon you with an 
unfortunate farewell. You have long sowed in a 
field of flint which could bring you nothing forth but 
a crop of cares and afflictions of spirit, rewarding 
your labom's with remorse, and for yom^ pains repay- 
ing you with eternal damages. It is now more than 
a seasonable time to alter your com^se of so un- 
thriving a husbandry, and to enter into the fields of 
God's Church ; in which, sowing the seed of repentant 
sorrow, and watering it with the tears of humble 
contrition, you may reap a more beneficial harvest, 
and ofather the fruit of e^^erlastino- consolation. Ee- 
member, I pray you, that your spring is spent, and 
your summer overpast ; you are now arrived at the 
fall of the leaf, yea the winter- colom-s have already 
stained your hoary head. 

Be not careless, saith St. Augustine, though our 
loving Lord bear long with offenders ; for the longer 
He stayeth without finding amendment, the sorer 
will He punish when He cometh to judgment ; His 
patience, in so long expecting, is only to lend us 
respite to repent, not any way to enlarge om^ leism^e 
to sin. He that is tossed with variety of storms, 



lii APPENDIX. 

and cannot reach his destined port, maketh not much 
way, but is sore turmoiled ; so he that passeth many 
years and purchaseth little profit, hath had a long 
being, but a short life : for life is more to be measured 
by merit than by number of days, seeing that most 
men by many days do but procure many deaths, 
while others in short space attain a life of infinite 
ages. What is the body without the soul, but a 
mass of corruption ; and what the soul without God 
but a sepulchre of sin ? If God be the way, the truth 
and the life, he that goeth without Him, strayeth, 
he that liveth without Him dieth, and he that is not 
taught by Him erreth. Well saitli St. Augustine, 
that God is our true and chief life, from whom to 
revolt is to fall, and to retiu*n is to rise. Be not 
you, therefore, of the number of those who begin 
not to live until they be ready to die, and then after 
a foe's desert, come to crave of God a friend's enter- 
tainment. Some think to share heaven in a moment, 
which the best scarce attain in the godliness of many 
years ; and when they have glutted themselves with 
worldly delights, they would fain pass at once from 
the diet of Dives to the crown of Lazarus, and from 
the servitude of Satan to the freedom of the Saints. 
But be you well assured, God is not so penurious of 
friends as to hold Himself and His kingdom for the 
refuse and reversion of their lives, who have sacrificed 
the principal thereof to His enemies and their own 



APPENDIX. liii 

brutal appetites ; then only ceasing to offend, when 
the ability of offending is taken from them. True 
it is that a thief may be saved upon the cross and find 
mercy at the last gasp, but well, saith St. Augustine, 
that though it be possible, yet is it scarce credible, 
that his death should find favour whose whole life 
hath deserved wrath ; and that his repentance should 
be accepted, which more through fear of hell and 
love of himself than love of God, or hatred of sin, 
crieth for mercy. WTierefore, good Sire, make no 
longer delay, but being so near the breaking up of 
your mortal house, take time, before straitened by 
extremity, to satisfy God's justice. Though you 
suffered the bud to be blasted, and the flower to fade ; 
though you permitted the fruit to perish and the 
leaves to wither away; yea, though you let the 
boughs decay, and the very trunk corrupt, yet, alas ! 
keep hfe in the root for fear the whole become fuel 
for the fire. Death hath already spoiled you of the 
better part of your natural force, and hath left you 
now to the last lease of your expiring days ; the 
remainder whereof, as it cannot be long, so doth it 
warn you speedily to ransom your former losses. 
What is age but a kalendar of death, and what doth 
your present weakness import, but an earnest of your 
approaching dissolution? You are now embarked 
on your final voyage, and not far off from the stinted 
period of your course, therefore, be not dispurveyed 



Uv APFUNBIX. 

of such proper provisions as are behoveful in so 
perplexed and perilous a journey. Death in itself 
is very fearful, but much more terrible in regard of 
the judgment that it summoneth us unto. If you 
were stretched on your departing bed, burthened 
with the heavy load of your former trespasses and 
gored with the sting of a festered conscience ; if you 
felt the hand of Death grasping your heart's-strings 
and ready to make the rueful divorce between body 
and soul ; if you lay panting for breath and bathed 
in a cold and fatal sweat, wearied with struggling 
against the pangs of death, oh, how much would you 
give for one hour for repentance, at what a rate 
would you value one day's contrition ! Worlds would 
then be worthless in respect of a little respite ; a short 
time would seem more precious than the treasures 
of empires. Nothing would be so much esteemed 
as a moment of time, which is now by months and 
years so lavishly mispent. Oh ! how deeply would 
it wound your heart, when looking back into yourself, 
you consider many faults committed and not con- 
fessed, many good works omitted or not recovered, 
your service to God promised but never performed. 
How intolerable will be your case ! your friends are 
fled, your servants frightened, your thoughts amazed, 
your memory distracted, your whole mind aghast 
and unable to perform what it would, only your guilty 
conscience will continually upbraid you with most 



APPENDIX, Iv 

bitter accusations. What will be joui' thoughts, 
when, stripped of your mortal body, and turned both 
out of the service and house-room of this world, you 
are forced to enter into uncouth and strange paths, 
and with unknown and ugly company to be carried 
before a most severe judge, carrying in your own con- 
science your judgment written, and a perfect register 
of all your misdeeds ; when you shall see Him pre- 
pared to pass the sentence upon you, against whom 
you have transgressed ; he is to be the umpire, whom 
by so many offences you have made your enemy ; 
when not only the devils, but even the angels will 
plead against you, and yourself, in spite of your will, 
be your own sharpest impeacher. What would you 
do in these dreadful exigencies, when you saw the 
ghastly dungeon and huge gulf of hell breaking out 
with most fearful flames ? when you heard the weep- 
ing and gnashing of teeth, the rage of those hellish 
monsters, the horror of the place, the rigour of the 
pain, the terror of the company, and the eternity of 
the punishments ? Would you then think them wise 
that would delay in such weighty matters, and idly 
play away a time allotted to prevent such intolerable 
calamities? Would you then account it secure to 
nurse in your bosom a brood of serpents, or suffer 
your soul to entertain so many accusers? Would 
not you, then, think a whole life too little to do 
penance for so many iniquities ? Why then do you 



Ivi APPENDIX. 

not, at least, devote the small remnant and surplus 
of these your latter days in seeking to make an 
atonement with God, and in freeing your conscience 
from the corruption that, hy your treason and fall, 
has crept into it; whose very eyes that read this 
discourse, and very understanding that conceiveth it, 
shall be cited as certain witnesses of what I describe. 
Your soul will then experience the most terrible 
fears, if you do not recover yourself into the fold and 
family of God's Church. What have you gained by 
being so long enslaved to the world ? What interest 
have you reaped that can equal your detriment in 
grace and virtue? You cannot be now inveigled 
with the passions of youth to make a partial estimate 
of things, and set no difference between counterfeit 
and current, for they are now either worn out by the 
touch of time, or falling into reproof by the trial of 
their own folly. It cannot be fear that leadeth you 
amiss, seeing it were so unfitting a thing that any 
craven cowardice of flesh and blood should daunt the 
prowess of an intelligent man, who, by his wisdom, 
cannot but discern how much more cause there is to 
fear God than man, and to stand in more awe of 
perpetual than of temporal penalties. An ungrounded 
presumption on the mercy of God, and the hope of 
His assistance at the last plunge — the ordinary device 
of the devil — is too palpable a collusion to mislead a 
sound and sensible man. Who would trust eternal 



APPENDIX. Ivii 

affairs upon the gliding slipperiness and shifting 
current of an uncertain life? or who, but one of 
distempered mind, would attempt to cheat the deci- 
pherer of all thoughts, with whom we may dissemble, 
but whom to deceive is impossible ? Shall we esteem 
it cunning to rob the time from Him and bestow it 
on His enemies, who keepeth account of the last 
moment of life, and will examine in the end how 
that moment hath been employed ? It is a prepos- 
terous policy to attempt to fight against God. It 
were a strange piece of art, and a device of exorbi- 
tant folly, while the ship is sound, the pilot well, the 
sailors strong, the gale favourable, to lie idle in the 
roads ; yet when the ship leaked, the pilot lay sick, 
the mariners faint, the storm boisterous, and the sea 
in a tumult of outrageous surges, then to launch 
forth, to hoist up sail, and to set out for a voyage 
into far countries : yet such is the skill of those 
cunning repenters, whose thoughts in soundness of 
health, and in the perfect use of reason, cannot re- 
solve to cut the cables and weigh the anchors that 
withhold them from God. Nevertheless they feed 
themselves with a fond presumption that, when their 
senses are astounded, their minds distracted, their 
understanding confused, and both their body and 
mind racked and tormented with the thi'obs of a 
mortal sickness, that then, forsooth, they will think 
of the weightiest matters, and become sudden saints, 



Iviii APPENDIX. 

when they are scarce able to behave themselves like 
reasonable creatures. If neither the canon, civil, nor 
common law alloweth a man, punished in judgment, 
to make any testament or bequest of his temporal 
substance, being then presumed to be less than a 
man ; how can he that is distracted with an unsettled 
conscience, distrained with the fits of his dying flesh, 
and maimed in all his faculties, be thought of such 
due discretion as to dispose of his chiefest inheritance, 
the treasure of his soul, and the concerns of a whole 
eternity in so short and stormy a moment? ^o, 
no : they that will loiter in the seed time, and only 
begin to sow when others reap ; they that will riot 
out their health, and cast their accounts when they 
can scarcely speak ; they that will slumber out the 
day, and enter on their journey when the light faileth 
them, let them blame their own folly if they die in 
debt, and fall headlong into the lapse of endless 
perdition. 

O, dear Sire, remember that the scripture terms 
it a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living 
God, who is able to crush the proud spirit of the 
obstinate, and to make His enemies the footstool of 
His feet. Wrestle no longer against the struggles 
of your own conscience, and the forcible admonitions 
that God doth send you. Embrace His mercy before 
the time of rigour, and return to His Church, lest 
He debar you His kingdom. He cannot have God 



APPENDIX. lix 

for his father that refuseth to possess the CathoUc 
Church for his mother ; neither can he attain to the 
Church triumphant in heaven, who is not a member 
of the Church mihtant upon earth. You have been, 
alas ! too long an alien in the tabernacles of sinners, 
and strayed too far from the folds of God's Church. 
Tm^n now the bias of your heart towards the sanc- 
tuary of salvation and the city of refuge, seeking the 
recovery of your wandering steps from the paths of 
error. ^Return with a swift force, and hasten with 
jealous progress to Cln?istian perfection ; redeeming 
the time because the days are evil. The full of your 
spring-tide is now fallen^ and the stream of your life 
waneth to a low ebb ; your tired bark beginneth to 
leak, and grateth oft upon the gravel of the grave ; 
therefore it is high time for you to strike sail and 
put into harbour, lest, remaining in the scope of the 
winds and waves of this wicked time, some unex- 
pected gust should dash you upon the rock of eternal 
ruin. Tender the pitiful state of your poor soul, 
and henceforth be more fearful of hell than of per- 
secution, and more eager of heaven than of worldly 
repose. Had the pen that wrote this letter been 
dipped in the wounds of the Saviour, and His pre- 
cious blood been used instead of ink ; had one of 
the highest seraphims come in the most solemn 
embassy to deliver it unto you, do you not think 
that it would have strained yoiu? heart, and wrought 



Ix APPENDIX. 

upon your mind to fulfil the contents, and alter jour 
course according to the tenor thereof? Doubtless 
you will not deny it. Then, good Sire, let it now 
take the same effect, seeing the difference has been 
in the ceremonies and not in the substance; and 
that very God, who should then have invited you to 
your correction, saith of such as I am, though most 
unworthy. He that heareth you, heareth Me; and 
he that desjpiseth you, despiseth Me ! I exhort you, 
therefore, as the vicegerent of God, and I humbly 
request you as a dutiful child that you would sur- 
render your assent, and yield your soul a happy 
captive to God's merciful inspirations, proceeding 
from an infinite love, and tending to your assured 
good. I have expressed not only my own, but the 
earnest desire of your other children, whose humble 
wishes are here written with my pen. For it is a 
general grief that fiUeth all our hearts, whom it hath 
pleased God to shroud under His merciful wing, to 
see our dearest father, to whom both nature hath 
bound and your merits fastened our affection, dis- 
membered from the body to which we are united, to 
be in hazard of a farther and more grievous separa- 
tion. O, good Sire, shall so many of your branches 
enjoy the quickening sap of God's Church, and, 
shooting up higher towards heaven, bring forth the 
flowers and fruits of salvation ; and, you that are 
the root of us, he barren and fruitless ? Shall the 
beams be bright, and the sun eclipsed ? Shall the 



APPENDIX. ki 

brooks be clear, and the head-spring troubled? 
Your lot hath no such affinity with the nature of a 
phoenix that jou should reap your offspring from 
your own ruins ; you are not so tied in the straits 
of the pehcan as to revive your issue by murdering 
yourself; neither we a generation of vipers that 
cannot come to life but by our parent's destruction. 
Yea, rather it is the thing we have chiefly in request, 
that we may be as near linked in spiritual, as we 
are in natural consanguinity ; and, that living with 
you in the compass of our Church, we may, to our 
unspeakable comfort, enjoy in heaven your most 
desired company. Blame me not, good Father, if 
zeal of yom^ recovery has carried me beyond the 
hmits of a letter. So important a truth cannot be 
too much avowed, nor too many means used to draw 
a soul out of » the misery of schism. Howsoever, 
therefore, the soft gales of your morning pleasures 
lulled you in slumbers ; howsoever the violent heat 
of noon might awake affections, yet now in the cool 
and calm of the evening retire to a Christian rest, 
and close up the day of your life with a clear sun- 
set ; that leaving all darkness behind you, and car- 
rying in your conscience the hght of grace, you may 
escape the horror of eternal night, and pass from 
the day of mortality to the Sabbath of everlasting 
rest : and humbly desiring that my sincere affection 
may find excuse of my boldness, I here conclude. 



Ixii APPENDIX, 

II. 

Letter written to his Brother, 

UNDEESTANDIJSTG that jou were resolved 
upon a course which most nearly toucheth 
the salvation of your soul, I received such content- 
ment as a sincere and most faithful love feeleth in 
the long desired happiness of so dear a friend. But 
hearing since, that you will dwell in danger and 
hnger in new delays, my hopes hang in suspense, 
and my heart in grief, angry with the chains that 
thus enthral you, and sorry to see you captive to 
your own fears. Shrine not any longer a dead soul 
in a living body : bail reason out of senses' prison, 
that after so long a bondage in sin, you may enjoy 
your former liberty in God's Church, and free your 
thought from the servile awe of uncertain perils. If 
all should take effect, that your timorous surmises 
suggest, yet could not even the misery of your pre- 
sent estate, with the loss of your patronage, and 
keeping you in this disfavour of God, have either 
left you any greater benefit to lose, or any deeper 
infelicity to incur. Weigh with yourself at how 
easy a price you rate God, whom you are content to 
sell for the use of your substance, yea, and for the 
preventing a loss which haply will never ensue. 
Have you so little need of Him, that you can so 



APPENDIX. Ixiii 

long forbear Him ? or is He so worthless in jour 
estimation that you will venture nothing for Him ? 
Adjourn not, I pray you, a matter of such import- 
ance. Eemember that one sin hegetteth another, 
and when you yield to nurse daily this venomous 
brood in your breast, what can you look for, but, 
that like vipers, they should compass your destruc- 
tion. Custom soon groweth to a second nature, and 
being once master of the mind, it can hardly be cast 
out of possession. If to-day you find yourself faint, 
fainter you are like to be to-morrow, if you languish 
in the same distaste without cure, and sufi*er the 
corrosive of sin to consume you without opposing its 
violence. How can you flatter yom^self with an 
ungrounded hope of mercy, since to continue in it so 
long, is the surest way to stop the fountain of it for 
ever ? The more you offend God, the less you deserve 
His favom^ ; and to be deaf when He calleth you, is 
to close His ears against all cries in the time of your 
necessity. If you mean to surrender your heart to 
Him, why do you lend so much leism'e to the devil 
to strengthen his hold ; and why stop up the passages 
v/ith mire hj which the pm^e waters of grace must 
flow into your soul ? Look if you can upon a crucifix 
without blushing ; do but count the ^yq wounds of 
Christ once over without a bleeding conscience. Eead 
your sins in those characters, and examine your 
thoughts whether the sight do please them. Alas ! 



Ixiv APPENDIX. 

if that innocent blood move you not, or if you can 
find still in your heart to open afresh such undeserved 
wounds, I would I might send you the sacrifice of 
my dearest veins, to try whether nature could awake 
remorse, and prepare a way for grace's entrance. 
Sorrow puts me to silence, and therefore, Brother, I 
must end, desiring you to have pity on yourself, 
whose harms make so hitter an impression on Ager's 
mind. God of His infinite goodness strengthen you 
in all your good designments. 



III. 

• State Paper Office, Doncaster. No. 190. 

Endorsed : Mr, Topdiffe about Mr. 
Bellamy y JSejotem, 1592. 

IT may please yo^ Lo. At my retorne out of the 
cuntrie this night, I did heare y* Mr. Bellamy es 
too dowghters are comitted to the gayt howse. But 
the old hene that hatched these chickens (the worst 
that ever was) is yett at a lodginge : Lett her be 
sent to the prison there at the gayt howse, and se- 
verd from her dowghters, and her spous Thomas 
Bellamy e comitted to S. Katheryns, And yow shall 
heare prooved cause enough, and see it woorke a 
straundge example (hereaboutts). 



APPENDIX. Ixv 

But ne"^ Younge nor other corny ssjoner must 
knowe that I do knowe the rest, or am a doer in this 
devjce. Nor by my will other than his Lordship that 
was w* yow when yow did concluyde what should be 
doone at grenwidge last. 

Lett them feele a day or too impresonment, And 
then your Lo : shall see me play the partt of a trew 
man, w* charity in the end, to the honor of the stayt; 
and so in hast at mydnight this fryday, 

Y^ Lo : at comandement, 

ElC; TOPCLYFFE. 

To the right honor, my Lorde 
Sir John Puckering, Lorde 
Keeper of the Great Seale 
ofEnojlande. 



IV. 



State Paper Office, Donc aster. No. 197. 

Endorsed : The exaiation of Mrs, Bel- 
lamye and her three children, 

THEXAMINATION of Katheryne BeHamye 
wiffe of Richard Bellamy e of harrowehill taken 
before me Bichard Yonge the xviij*^ day of Julye 
1594. 

The said ex* saieth that she dothe goe to churche, 
e 



Ixvi APPENDIX. 

and dothe heare djvine service and sermons, but she 
saieth that she hath not receyved the communjon. 

Itm, she saieth that she hathe twoe sonnes, one 
ffaithe, and thother Thomas, and they doe goe to 
churche everye Sondaye. 

Itm, she saieth that she hath twoe dawghters, one 
called Awdrye, thother Marye, and they be in howse 
w* her, but they doe not goe to churche. 

Itm, she saieth that Mr. Willm. Page* her uncle 
dothe lodge at her howse and dothe not goe to 
churche. 

Thomas Eellamye oiF thage of 22 or 23 yeares 
exaied saith that he goeth to churche, and heareth 
dyvyne service, and sermons alsoe. And althoughe 
he did not receyve the comunyon the last Easter, 
yet nowe he is willinge; he saith also that Mr. 
Willm. Page lyeth at his ffather's, but goeth not to 
churche. 

Awdrye Wylford wydowe exaied saieth, that she 
remayneth w^ her mother Mrs. Bellamye, and beinge 
asked whether she goeth to Church, answereth noe, 
and saith that her conscience will not give her to goe 
to churche, and (so farr as she can remember) she 



* Two members of the Page family, Antony and Fran- 
cis, both priests and the latter S. J. were executed; the 
former in 1593, the latter in 1602. — Vide Chaloner's Memoirs 
of Missionary Priests. 



APPENDIX. Ixvii 

was nev^ at cliurclie in alle lier Ijfe tjme, and refus- 
eth also no we to goe, or to liave conference. 

Marje Bellamje of tliage of 27 yeares exaied 
saith, that she hath dwelt alwaies w^ her Mother, 
and hathe not been at church these 14 jeares ; And 
being asked why ? saith that her conscience will not 
suffer her, neither will she nowe goe to chui^che, or 
yet admytte anye conference. 

Endorsed : the exaiacon of !Mi^s. Bellamye 
and her three children. 










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THE AUTHOE TO HIS LOVmG COUSIN. 




JOETS, by abusing their talents, and 
making the foUies and feignings of 
love the customary subject of their 
base endeavours, have so discredited this 
faculty, that a poet, a lover, and a Har, are by many 
reckoned but three words of one signification. But 
the vanity of men cannot counterpoise the authority 
of God, who dehvered many parts of Scripture in 
verse, and, by his apostle willing us to exercise our 
devotion in hymns and spiritual songs, warranteth 
the art to be good and the use allowable. And 
therefore not only among the heathens, whose Gods 
were chiefly canonized by their poets, and their 
paynim divinity oracled in verse ; but even in the 
Old and New Testament it hath been used by men 
of the greatest piety in matters of most devotion. 
Christ himself, by making an hymn the conclusion of 
his last supper, and the prologue to the first pageant 
of his passion, gave his Spouse a method to imitate, 



2 THE AUTHOR, ETC. 

as in the office of the Church it appeareth ; and to 
all men a pattern, to know the true use of this mea- 
sured style. 

But the devil, as he aifecteth deity and seeketh 
to have all the compliments of divine honour applied 
to his service, so hath he among the rest possessed 
also most Poets with his idle fancies. For in lieu 
of solemn and devout matters, to which in duty 
they owe their abilities, they now busy themselves 
in expressing such passions as serve only for testi- 
monies to what unworthy affections they have wedded 
their wills. And, because the best course to let them 
see the error of their works is to weave a new web 
in their own loom, I have here laid a few coarse 
threads together to invite some skilfuUer wits to go 
forward in the same, or to begin some finer piece, 
wherein it may be seen how well verse and virtue 
suit together. 

Elame me not, good Cousin, though I send you 
a blame -worthy present, in which the most that can 
be commended is the good will of the writer ; neither 
art nor invention giving it any credit. If in me this 
be a fault, you cannot be faultless that did impor- 
tune me to commit it, and therefore you must bear 
part of the penance when it shall please sharp cen- 
sures to impose it. In the mean time, with many 
good wishes, I send you these few ditties ; add you 
the tunes, and let them, I pray you, be still a part 
in all your music. 



TO THE EEADEE. 




I E AE eye, that dost peruse mj muses still, 
With easy censure deem of my delight ; 
Give sob'rest count'nance leave some- 
time to smile, 
And gravest wits to take a breathing flight : 
Of mirth to make a trade may be a crime, 
But tired sprites for mirth must have a time. 



The lofty eagle soars not still above. 

High flights will force her from the wing to stoop ; 

And studious thoughts at times men must remove, 

Lest by excess before the time they di^oop : 

In coarser studies 'tis a sweet repose. 

With poets pleasing vein to temper prose. 



Prophane conceits and feigned fits I fly ; 

Such lawless stuff doth lawless speeches fit. 

With David, verse to ratue I apply. 

Whose measure best with measured words doth fit ; 

It is the sweetest note that man can sing 

|\\Tien grace in ^drtue's key tunes nature's string. 





EUESUS AD EUNDEM. 

^EAE eye, that deignest to let fall a look 
On these sad memories of Peter's 

plaints, [brook ; 

Muse not to see some mud in clearest 
They once were brittle mould that now are saints. 
Their weakness is no warrant to offend ; 
Learn by their faults what in thine own to mend. 

If Justice' even hand the balance held, 

Where Peter's sins and ours were made the weights, — 

Ounce for his drachm, pound for his ounce we yield, — 

His ship would groan to feel some sinners' freights. 

So ripe is vice, so green is virtue's bud. 

The world doth wax in ill, but wane in good. 

This makes my mourning muse dissolve in tears. 
This themes my heavy pen, — too plain in prose ; 
Christ's thorn is sharp, no head his garland wears ; 
Still finest wits are 'stilling Yenus' rose : 



6 RUBSUS AD EUNDEM. 

In paynim toys the sweetest veins are spent ; 
To Christian works few have their talents lent. 

Licence my single pen to seek a phere ; 
You heavenly sparks of wit shew native light, 
Cloud not with misty loves your orient clear. 
Sweet flights you shoot, learn once to level right. 
Favour my wish, well-wishing works no ill ; 
I move the suit, the grant rests in your will. 




SAINT PETER'S COMPLAINT, 

MARY MAGDALEN'S TEARS, 

WITH OTHEE WOEKS 0¥ 

THE AUTHOE 

E. S. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED BY J. HAVILAND, AND 

SOLD BY ROBERT ALLOTT. 

1634. 




SAINT PETEE'S COMPLAINT. 




AUNCH fortli, mj soul, into a main 
of tears, 
'Fidl fraught with grief, the traffic of 
thj mind ; 
Torn sails will serve thoughts rent with guilty fears, 

Give care the stern; use sighs instead of wind : 
Eemorse thy pilot, thy misdeed thy card, 
Torment thy haven, shipwreck thy best reward. 



Shun not the shelf of most deserved shame, " "^ 
Stick in the sands of agonizing dread ; 

Content thee to be storms' and billows' game. 
Divorced from grace, thy soul to penance wed : 

Fly not from foreign ills, fly from the heart. 

Worse than the worst of ills is that thou art. 



aP-^ 



10 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

Give vent unto the vapours of thy breast, 
That thicken in the brims of cloudy eyes ; 

Where sin was hatch'd, let tears now wash the nest, 
Where hfe was lost, recover life with cries ; 

Thy trespass foul, let not thy tears be few. 

Baptize thy spotted soul in weeping dew. 

Fly mournful plaints, the echoes of my ruth, 
When screeches in my frighted conscience ring, 

Sob out my sorrows, fruits of mine untruth, 
Eeport the smart of sin's infernal sting ; 

Tell hearts that languish in the sorriest plight. 

There is on earth a far more sorry wight. 

A sorry wight, the object of disgrace. 

The monument of fear, the map of shame. 

The mirror of mishap, the stain of place. 
The scorn of time, the infamy of fame. 

An excrement of earth, to heaven hateful. 

To man injurious, to God ungrateful. 

Ambitious heads, dream you of Fortune's pride, 
Fill volumes with your forged goddess' praise ; 

You Fancy's drudges, plunged in Folly's tide, 
Devote your fabling wits to lovers' lays : 

\Be you, sharpest griefs that ever wrung ! 
Text to my thoughts, theme to my plaining tongue. 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 11 

Sad subject of mj sin hatli stored my mind, 
With everlasting matter of complaint ; 

My themes an endless alphabet do find, 

Beyond the pangs which Jeremy doth paint ; 

That eyes with errors may just measure keep, 

Most tears I wish, that have most cause to weep. 

All weeping eyes resign yom* tears to me, ! 

A sea will scantly rinse my ordured soul ; \ 
Huge horrors in high tides must drowned be ; 

Of every tear my crime exacteth toll ; 
These stains are deep, few drops take out no such ; 
Even salve with sore, and most is not too much. 

I fear'd with life to die, by death to hve ; 

I left my guide, — now left, and leaving God ; 
To breathe in bhss I fear'd my breath to give, 

I fear'd for heavenly sign an earthly rod ; 
These fears I fear'd, fears feehng no mishaps, p 
Oh ! fond, oh ! faint, oh ! false, oh ! faulty lapse ! | 

How can I live, that thus my life denied ? 

A\liat can I hope, that lost my hope in fear ? 
What trust in one, that truth itself defied ? 

^Tiat good in him, that did his God forswear ? 
O sin of sins ! of ills the very worst ; 
O matchless wretch ! O caitiff most accurst ! 



\ 



12 ST, PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

Yaln in mj vaunts, I vow'd, if friends had fail'd, 
Alone Christ's hardest fortunes to abide : 

Giant in talk, hke dwarf in trial quail'd, 
Excelling none but in untruth and pride. 

Such distance is between high words and deeds ! 

In proof, the greatest vaunter seldom speeds. 

Ah ! rashness, hasty rise to murdering leap, 
Lavish in vowing, blind in seeing what ; 

Soon sowing shames that long remorse must reap, 
Nursing with tears that over-sight begat ; 

Scout of repentance, harbinger of blame, 

Treason to wisdom, mother of iU name. 

The born-blind beggar, for received sight, 
Fast in his faith and love to Christ remain'd ; 

He stooped to no fear, he fear'd no might, 

'No change his choice, no threats his truth distain'd: 

One wonder wrought him in his duty sure, 

I, after thousands, did my Lord abjure. 

Could servile fear of rendering Nature's due. 

Which growth in years was shortly like to claim. 

So thrall my love, that I should thus eschew 
A vowed death, and miss so fair an aim ? 

Die, die disloyal wretch, thy life detest ; 

For saving thine, thou hast forsworn the best. 



ST, PETER'S COMPLAINT, 13 

Ah ! life, sweet drop, di^o^Ti'd in a sea of sours, 
A flying good, posting to doubtful end ; 

Still losing montlis and years to gain new hours, 
Fain times to have and spare, jet forced to spend ; 

Thy growth, decrease ; a moment all thou hast. 

That gone ere known ; the rest, to come, or past. 

Ah ! life, the maze of countless straying ways, 
Open to erring steps and strew'd with baits, 

To bind weak senses into endless strays. 

Aloof from Yfrtue's rough, unbeaten straits ; 

A flower, a play, a blast, a shade, a dream, 

A living death, a never-tm^ning stream. 

And could I rate so high a life so base ? 

Did fear with love cast so uneven account. 
That for this goal I should run Judas' race, 

And Caiaphas' rage in cruelty surmount ? 
Yet they esteemed thirty pence his price ; 
I, worse than both, for nought denied him thrice. 

The mother-sea, fi^om ovei^flo'sving deep. 

Sends forth her issue by divided veins, 1 1 

Yet back her offspring to their mother creep, h 
To pay the purest streams with added gains. 

But I, that drank the drops of heavenly flood, 

Bemired the Giver with returning mud ! 



14 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT, 

Is this the harvest of his sowing toil ? 

Did Christ manure thy heart to breed him briers ? 
Or doth it need this unaccustomed soil, 

With hellish dung to fertile heaven's desires ? 
No, no, the marl that perjuries do yield, 
May spoil a good, not fat a barren field. 

Was this for best deserts the direst meed ? 

Are highest worths well waged with spiteful hire ? 
Are stoutest vows repealed in greatest need ? 
Should friendship, at the first afiront, retire ? 
r Blush, craven sot, lurk in eternal night ; 
I Crouch in the darkest caves from loathed light ! 

Ah ! wretch, why was I named son of a Dove, 
Whose speeches voided spite and breathed gall ? 

No kin I am unto the bird of love, 

My stony name much better suits my fall : 
I My oaths were stones, my cruel tongue the sling. 

My God the mark at which my spite did fling ! 

Were all the Jewish tyrannies too few 

To glut thy hungry looks with his disgrace ? 

That these more hateful tyrannies must shew. 
And spit thy poison in thy Maker's face ? 

Didst thou to spare his foes put up thy sword, 

To brandish now thy tongue against thy Lord ? 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT, 15 

Ah ! tongue, that didst his praise and Godhead sound, 
How wert thou stain'd with such detesting words, 

That every word was to his heart a wound, 

And lanced him deeper than a thousand swords ? 

"WTiat rage of man, yea what infernal sprite, 

Could have disgorged more loathsome dregs of spite ? 

Why did the yielding sea, Hke marble way, 

Support a wretch more wavering than the waves ? 

Whom doubt did plunge, why did the waters stay. 
Unkind in kindness, mm^dering while it saves ? 

Oh that this tongue had then been fishes' food, 

And I devoured, before this cursing mood ! 

These sm-ges, depths and seas, unfii^m by kind, 
Rough gusts, and distance both from ship and shore, 

Were titles to excuse my staggering mind ; 
Stout feet might falter on that liquid floor. 

But here no seas, no blasts, no billows were, 

A puff of woman's wind bred all my fear. 

coward troops, far better arm'd than hearted ! 
"WTiom angry words, whom blows could not provoke ; 

WTiom though I taught how sore my weapon smarted. 

Yet none repaid me with a wounding stroke. 
Oh no ! that stroke could but one moiety kill ; 

1 was reserved both halves at once to spill. 



16 ST. PETEWS COMPLAINT. 

Ah ! whither was forgotten love exiled ? 

Where did the truth of pledged promise sleep ? 
What in my thoughts hegat this ugly child, 

That could through rented soul thus fiercely creep? 
O viper, fear their death by whom thou livest ; 
All good thy ruins wreck, all ills thou givest I 

Threats threw me not, torments I none assay'd ; 

My fray with shades ; conceits did make m<^ yield, 
Wounding my thoughts with fears ; seMy dismay'd, 

I neither fought nor lost, — I gave the field : 
Infamous foil ! a maiden's easy breath 
Did blow me down, and blast my soul to death. 

Titles I make untruths : am I a rock, 
That with so soft a gale was overthrown ? 

Am I fit pastor for the faithful flock. 

To guide their souls that murder'd thus mine own? 

A rock of ruin, not a rest to stay ; 

A pastor, — not to feed, but to betray. 

Fidelity was flown when fear was hatched, 
Brood incompatible in Virtue's nest ! 

Courage can less with cowardice be match'd. 
Prowess nor love lodged in divided breast. 

O Adam's child, cast by a silly Eve, 

Heir to thy father's foils, and born to grieve ! 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 17 

In Thabor's jojs I eager was to dwell, 

An earnest friend while pleasures' light did shine ; 
Eut when echpsed glory prostrate fell, 

These zealous heats to sleep I did resign ; 
And now, my mouth hath thrice his name defiled. 
That cried so loud three dwellings there to build. 

"WTien Christ, attending the distressful hour, 

With his sm^harged breast did bless the ground, 

Prostrate in pangs, raining a bleeding shower, 
Me, like myself, a drowsy friend He found. 

Tlirice, in His care, sleep-closed by careless eye, 

Presage how Him my tongue should thrice deny. 

Parting from Christ my fainting force decHned, 
With lingering foot I follow'd him aloof; 

Base fear out of my heart his love mishrined. 
Huge in high words, but impotent in proof. 

My vaunts did seem hatch'd imder Samson's locks. 

Yet woman's words did give me murdering knocks. 

So fare lukewarm desires in crazy love. 

Par off, in need, with feeble foot they train ; 

In tides they swim, low ebbs they scorn to prove ; 
They suck their friends' delights, but shun their 
pain. 

Hire of an hireling mind is earned shame : 

Take now thy due, bear thy begotten blame. 



18 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

Ah ! cool remissness, virtue's quartan fever, 
Pining of love, consumption of grace ; 

Old in the cradle, languor dying ever, 

Soul's wilful famine, sin's soft-stealing pace ; 

The undermining ill of zealous thought, 

Seeming to bring no harms, till all be brought I 

portress of the door of my disgrace, 

Whose tongue unlock'd the truth of vowed mind ; 
Whose words from coward's heart did courage chase, 

And let in deathful fears my soul to blind ; 
Oh, hadst thou been the portress to my tomb, 
When thou wert portress to that cursed room ! 

Yet love was loath to part, fear loath to die ; 

Stay, danger, life,, did counterplead their causes ; 
I, favouring stay and life, bade danger fly, 

But danger did except against these clauses : 
Yet stay and live I would, and danger shun. 
And lost myself, while I my verdict won. 

1 staid, yet did my staying farthest part ; 
I lived, but so, that saving life I lost it ; 

Danger I shunn'd, but to my sorer smart, 

I gained nought, but deeper danger cross'd it. 
What danger, distance, death, is worse than this. 
That runs from God and spoils his soul of bliss ? 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 19 

O John, mj guide unto this earthly hell, 
Too well acquainted in so ill a court, 

(Where railing mouths with blasphemies did swell, 
With tainted breath infecting all resort,) 

Why didst thou lead me to this hell of evils. 

To show myself a fiend among the devils ? 

Ill precedent, the tide that wafts to vice ; 

Dumb orator, that woos with silent deeds, 
Writing in works lessons of ill advice ; 

The doing tale that eye in practice reads. 
Taster of joys to unacquainted hunger, 
With leaven of the old seasoning the younger. 

It seems no fault to do that all have done ; \ 

The number of offenders hides the sin ; 

Coach drawn with many horse doth easily run, 
Soon folio weth one where multitudes begin. 

Oh, had I in that Court much stronger been. 

Or not so strong as fii'st to enter in ! 

Sharp was the weather in that stormy place, 
Best suiting hearts benumbed with heUish frost, 

WTiose crusted mahce could admit no grace : 
WTiere coals are kindled to the warmers' cost ; 

Where fear my thoughts candied with icy cold. 

Heat did my tongue to perjuries unfold. 



20 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

O hateful fire (ah ! that I ever saw it) ! 

Too hard my heart was frozen for thy fore e ; 
Far hotter flames it did require to thaw it, 

Thy hell-resembling heat did freeze it worse. 
Oh that I rather had eongeal'd to ice, 
Than bought thy warmth at such a damning price ! 

O wakeful bird ! proclaimer of the day, 

Whose piercing note doth daunt the lion's rage ; 

Thy crowing did myself to me bewray, 

My frights and brutish heats it did assuage. 

But oh ! in this alone, unhappy cock, 

That thou to count my foils wert made the clock ! 

O bird ! the just rebuker of my crime, 
The faithful waker of my sleeping fears, 

Ee now the daily clock to strike the time. 

When stinted eyes shall pay their task of tears ; 

Upbraid mine ears with thine accusing crow. 

To make me rue what first it made me know. 

O mild revenger of aspiring pride ! 

Thou canst dismount high thoughts to low effects ; 
Thou madest a cock me for my fault to chide. 

My lofty boasts this lowly bird corrects. 
Well might a cock correct me with a crow, 
Whom hennish cackling first did overthrow. 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 21 

Weak weapons did Goliah's fumes abate, 

T^Tiose storming rage did thunder threats in vain ; 

His body huge, harness'd with massy plate, 

Yet David's stone brought death into his brain ; 

With staff and shng as to a dog he came, 

And with contempt did boasting fuiy tame. 

Yet David had with bear and lion fought, 
His skilful might excused Gohah's foil ; 

The death is eased that worthy hand hath wrought ; 
Some honom* lives in honourable spoil. 

But I, on whom all infamies must light. 

Was hiss'd to death with words of woman's spite. 

Small gnats enforced th' Egyptian king to stoop, 
Yet they in swarms, and arm'd with piercing stings, 

Smart, noise, annoyance, made his courage droop ; — ■ 
No small incumbrance such small vermin brings : 

I quail'd at words that neither bit nor stung. 

And those dehver'd from a woman's tono^ue. 



Ah fear ! abortive imp of drooping mind ; 

Self-overthrow, false friend, root of remorse ; 
Sighted in seeing ills, in shunning blind, 

Foil'd mthout field, by fancy not by force ; 
Ague of valour, frenzy of the wise, 
Fine honour's stain, love's frost, the mint of lies. 



22 ST. FETEES COMPLAINT. 

Can virtue, wisdom, strength, bj woman spill'd 
In David's, Solomon's, and Samson's falls, 

With semblance of excuse my error gild. 
Or lend a marble gloss to muddy walls ? 

O no ! their fault had show of some pretence, 

No veil can hide the shame of my ojffence. 

The blaze of beauty's beams allured their looks ; 

Their looks, by seeing oft, conceived love ; 
Love, by effecting, swallow'd pleasure's hooks ; 

Thus beauty, love, and pleasure them did move. 
These Syrens' sugar'd tunes rock'd them to sleep. 
Enough to damn, yet not to damn so deep. 

But gracious features dazzled not mine eyes ; 

Two homely droils were authors of my death ; 
Not love, but fear, my senses did surprise, 

Not fear of force, but fear of woman's breath ; 
And those unarm'd, ill graced, despised, unknown : 
So base a blast my truth hath overthrown ! 

O women ! woe to men ; traps for their falls ; 

Still actors in all tragical mischances ; 
Earth's necessary ills, captiving thralls, 

Now murdering with your tongues, now with your 
glances ; 
Parents of life and love, spoilers of both, 
The thieves of hearts, false, do you love or loath ! 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 23 

In time^ O Lord ! thine ejes with mine did meet, 
In them I read the ruins of my fall ; 

Their cheering rays, that made misfortune sweet, 
Into my guilty thoughts pour'd floods of gall : 

Their heavenly looks, that bless'd where they beheld. 

Darts of disdain and angry checks did yield. 

O sacred eyes ! the springs of living light, 

The earthly heavens where angels joy to dwell, 

How could you deign to view my deathful plight. 
Or let your heavenly beams look on my hell ? 

But those unspotted eyes encountered mine. 

As spotless sun doth on the dunghill shine. 

Sweet volumes, stored with learning fit for saints, 
T\Tiere blissful quires imparadise their minds ; 

Wherein eternal study never faints, 

StiU finding aU, yet seeking all it finds : 

How endless is your labyrinth of bliss, 

Where to be lost the sweetest finding is ! 

Ah wretch ! how oft have I sweet lessons read 
In those dear eyes, the registers of truth ! 

How oft have I my hungry wishes fed. 

And in their happy joys redress'd my ruth ! 

Ah ! that they now are heralds of disdain, 

That erst were ever pitiers of my pain ! 



c> 



'^^^ 



24 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

You flames divine, that sparkle out your heats, 
And kindle pleasing fires in mortal hearts ; 

You nectar'd ambries of soul-feeding meats ; 
You graceful quivers of love's dearest darts ; 

You did vouchsafe to warm, to wound, to feast, 

My cold, my stony, my now famished breast. 

The matchless eyes, match'd only each by other. 
Were pleased on my ill matched eyes to glance ; 

The eye of liquid pearl, the purest mother, 

Broach'd tears in mine to weep for my mischance ; 

The cabinets of grace unlock'd their treasure, 

And did to my misdeed their mercies measure. 

These blazing comets, Kghtning flames of love. 
Made me their warming influence to know ; 

My frozen heart their sacred force did prove. 

Which at their looks did yield like melting snow ; 

They did not joys in former plenty carve. 

Yet sweet are crumbs where pined thoughts do starve. 

O living mirrors ! seeing whom you show. 

Which equal shadow worths with shadow'd things. 

Yea, make things nobler than in native hue, 
By being shaped in those life-giving springs ; 

Much more my image in those eyes was graced. 

Than in myself whom sin and shame defaced ! 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 25 

All-seeing eyes, more worth than all you see, 
Of which one is the other's only price ; 

I worthless am, direct your beams on me, 
With quickening virtue cure my killing vice. 

By seeing things you make things worth the sight. 

You seeing, salve, and being seen, dehght ! 

Oh ! pools of Hesebon, the baths of grace, 7^ 
Where happy spirits dive in sweet desires ; 

Where saints delight to glass their glorious face. 
Whose banks make echo to the angel quires ; 

An echo sweeter in the sole rebound. 

Than angels' music in the ftJlest sound ! 

Oh eyes ! whose glances are a silent speech. 
In cipher'd works high mysteries disclosing ; 

Which, with a look, all sciences can teach. 

Whose texts to faithful hearts need little glosing ; 

Witness unworthy I, who in a look 

Learn'd more by rote, than all the scribes by book ! 

Though malice still possess'd their harden'd minds, 
I, though too hard, learn'd softness in thine eye. 

Which iron knots of stubborn will unbinds. 

Offering them love, that love with love will buy. 

This did I learn, yet they could not discern it ; 

But woe, that I had now such need to learn it ! 



26 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

/ O suns ! all but yourselves in light excelling, 
f Whose presence day, whose absence causeth night ; 

I "Whose neighbour-course brings Summer, cold 

I I expelling, 

I \ Whose distant periods freeze away delight. 

%. Ah ! that I lost your bright and fostering beams, 
To plunge my soul in these congealed streams ! 

Oh ! gracious spheres, where love the centre is, 
A native place for our self-laden souls ; 

The compass, love, — a cope that none can miss, 
The motion, love, — that round about us rolls : 

Oh ! spheres of love, whose centre, cope, and motion, 

Is love of us, love that invites devotion ! 

Oh ! little worlds, the sums of all the best. 

Whose glory, heaven; God, sun; all virtues, stars; 

Whose fire, — a love that next to heaven doth rest ; 
Air, — ^Hght of life that no distemper mars ; 

Whose water grace, whose seas, whose springs, whose 
showers. 

Clothe Nature's earth with everlasting flowers ! 

What mixtures these sweet elements do yield. 
Let happy worldlings of these worlds expound ; 

But simples are by compounds far excell'd. 

Both suit a place where all best things abound ; 

And if a banish'd wretch guess not amiss. 

All but one compound frame of perfect bliss. 



ST. PETEWS COMPLAINT. 21 

1, cast-out from these worlds, exiled roam, 

Poor saint from heaven, from fire cold salamander ! 

Lost fish from those sweet waters' kindly home, 
From land of life stray'd pilgrim still I wander. 

I know the cause : these worlds had never hell, 

In which my faults have hest deserved to dwell. 

Oh Bethlem-cisterns ! David's most desire, 

From which my sins like fierce Philistines keep ; 

To fetch your drops what champion should I hire. 
That I therein my wither'd heart may steep ? 

I would not shed them like that holy king : 

His were but types, these are the figured thing. 



Oh ! turtle twins all bathed in virgin's milk, 
Upon the margin of full-flowing banks. 

Whose graceful plume surmounts the finest silk. 
Whose sight enamoureth heaven's most happy 
ranks : 

Could I forswear this heavenly pair of doves. 

That caged iji care for me were groaning loves ! 

Twice Moses' hand did strike the stubborn rock, 
Ere stony veins would yield their crystal blood ;/ 

Thine eyes, one look, served as an only knock 
To make my heart gush out a weeping flood. 

Wherein my sins, as fishes, spawn their fry, 

To show their inward shames, and then to die. 



28 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

But oh ! how long demur I on his eyes, 

Whose look did pierce my heart with healing wound ! 

Lancing imposthumed sore of perjured lies, 

Which these two issues of mine eyes have found ; 

Where run it must till death the issues stop, 

And penal life hath purged the final drop. 

Like solest swan, that swims in silent deep, 
And never sings but obsequies of death, 

Sigh out thy plaints, and sole in secret weep. 
In suing pardon spend thy perjured breath ; 

Attire thy soul in sorrow's mourning weed. 

And at thine eyes let guilty conscience bleed. 

'Still in the 'lembic of thy doleful breast 

Those bitter fruits that from thy sins do grow ; 

For fuel, self-accusing thoughts be best ; 
Use fear as fire, the coals let penance blow ; 

And seek none other quintessence but tears. 

That eyes may shed what enter'd at thine ears. 

Come sorrowing tears, the offspring of my grief, 
Scant not your parent of a needful aid ; 

In you I rest the hope of wish'd relief. 
By you my sinful debts must be defrayed : 

Your power prevails, your sacrifice is grateful^ 

By love obtaining life to men most hateful. 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 29 

Come good effect of ill-deserving cause, 

111 gotten imps, jet virtuously brought forth ; 

Self-blaming probates of infringed laws, 

Yet blamed faults redeeming with your worth ; 

The signs of shame in you each eye may read, 

Yet, while you guilty prove, you pity plead. 

O beams of mercy ! beat on sorrow's cloud, 

Pour supphng showers upon my parched ground ; 

Bring forth the fruit to your due service vow'd. 
Let good desires with Hke deserts be crown'd : 

Water young blooming virtue's tender flow'r. 

Sin did all grace of riper growth devour. 

Weep balm and myrrh, you sweet Arabian trees. 
With purest gums perfume and pearl your rine ; j 

Shed on your honey-drops, you busy bees, ! 

I, barren plant, must weep unpleasant brine : 

Hornets I hive, salt drops their labour phes, 

Suck'd out of sin^ and shed by showering eyes* 



If David, night by night, did bathe his bed, 
Esteeming longest days too short to moan ; 

Tears inconsolable if Anna shed. 

Who in her son her solace had foregone ; 

Then I to days and weeks, to months and years. 

Do owe the hourly rent of stintless tears. 



30 ST. PETEES COMPLAINT. 

If love, if loss, if fault, if spotted fame, 

If danger, death, if wrath, or wreck of weal, 

Entitle eyes true heirs to earned blame, 
That due remorse in such events conceal : 

That want of tears might well enrol my name. 

As chiefest saint in kalendar of shame. 

Love, where I loved, was due and best deserved ; 

No love could aim at more love -worthy mark ; 
No love more loved than mine of him I served ; 

Large use he gave, a flame for every spark. 
This love I lost, this loss a life must rue ; 
Yea, life is short to pay the ruth is due. 

I lost all that I had, who had the most, 
The most that will can wish, or wit devise : 

I least performed that did most vainly boast, 
I stain'd my fame in most infamous wise. 

What danger then, death, wrath, or wreck can move 

More pregnant cause of tears than this I prove ? 

If Adam sought a veil to scarf his sin, 

Taught by his fall to fear a scourging hand ; 

If men shall wish that hills should wrap them in, 
When crimes in final doom come to be scann'd ; 

What mount, what cave, what centre can conceal 

My monstrous fact, which even the birds reveal ? 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 31 

Come shame, the livery of offending mind. 
The ugly shroud that overshadoweth blame ; 

The mulct at which foul faults are justly fined ; 
The damp of sin, the common slime of fame, 

By which imposthumed tongues their humours purge ; 

Light shame on me, I best deserved the scourge. 

Cain's murdering hand imbrued in brother's blood, 
More mercy than my impious tongue may crave ; 

He kill'd a rival with pretence of good. 
In hope God's doubled love alone to have. 

But fear so spoil'd my vanquish'd thoughts of love, 

That perjured oaths my spiteftd hate did prove. 

Poor Agar from her sphere enforced to fly, 
In wilds Barsabian wandering alone, 

Doubting her child through helpless drought would die, 
Laid it aloof, and set her down to moan : 

The heavens with prayers, her lap with tears she fill'd ; 

A mother's love in loss is hardly still'd. 

But, Agar, now bequeath thy tears to me ; 

Fears, not effects, did set afloat thine eyes. 
But, wretch ! I feel more than was fear'd by thee ; 

Ah ! not my son, my soul it is that dies. 
It dies for drought, yet hath a spring in sight : 
Worthy to die, that would not live, and might. 



32 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

Fair Absalom's foul faults, compared with mine, 
Are brightest sands to mud of Sodom's lake ; 

High aims, joung spirits, birth of royal line. 
Made him play false where kingdoms were the 
stake : 

He gazed on golden hopes, whose lustre wins, 

Sometimes, the gravest wits to grievous sins. 

But I, whose crime cuts off the least excuse, 
A kingdom lost, but hoped no mite of gain ; 

My highest mark was but the worthless use 
Of some few lingering hours of longer pain. 

Ungrateful child, his parent he pursued, 

I, giants' war with God himself renew'd ! 

Joy, infant saints, whom in the tender flower 
A happy storm did free from fear of sin ! 

Long is their Hfe that die in bhssful hour ; 
Joyful such ends as endless joys begin : 

For long they hve that hve till they be nought : 

Life saved by sin, is purchase dearly bought ! 

This lot was mine ; your fate was not so fierce, 
Whom spotless death in cradle rook'd asleep ; 

Sweet roses, mix'd with lilies, strew'd your hearse, 
Death virgin-white in martyrs' red did steep ; 

Your downy heads both pearls and rubies crown'd, 

My hoary locks did female fears confound. 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 33 

You bleating ewes, that wail this wolvish spoil V V 

Of sucking lambs new bought with bitter throes ; 

To embalm your babes your eyes distil their oil, 
Each heart to tomb her child wide raptm^e shows. 

Eue not their death, whom death did but revive, 

Yield ruth to me that lived to die alive. 

With easy loss shai^ wrecks did he eschew, 

That sindonless aside did naked slip : 
Once naked grace no outward garment knew ; 

Such are his robes whom sin did never strip. 
I, rich in vaunts, display'd pride's fairest flags. 
Disrobed of grace, am wrapp'd in Adam's rags. 

"WTien, traitor to the Son, in Mother's eyes 

I shall present my humble suit for grace, 
Whsit blush can paint the shame that will arise, 

Or write my inward feehngs on my face ? 
Might she the sorrow with the sinner see, 
Though I'm despised, my grief might pitied be ! 

But ah ! how can her ears my speech endure, 
Or scent my breath still reeking heUish steam ? 

Can Mother like what did the Son abjure, 
Or heart deflower'd a Virgin's love redeem ? 

The Mother nothing loves that Son doth loathe : 

Ah ! loathsome wretch, detested of them both ! 



# 



34 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

sister nymphs, the sweet renowned pair, 
That bless Bethania bounds with your abode I 

Shall I infect that sanctified air, 

Or stain those steps where Jesus breathed and trod? 
No, let your prayers perfume that sweeten'd place ; 
Turn me with tigers to the wildest chace. 

Could I revived Lazarus behold, 

The third of that sweet trinity of saints, 

Would not astonish'd dread my senses hold ? 
Ah yes ! my heart even with his naming faints : 

1 seem to see a messenger from hell. 
That my prepared torments comes to tell. 

O John ! O James ! we made a triple cord 
Of three most loving and best loved friends ; 

My rotten twist was broken with a word, 
Fit now to fuel fire among the fiends. 

It is not ever true though often spoken, 

That triple-twisted cord is hardly broken. 

The devils dispossess'd, that out I threw 
In Jesus' name, now impiously forsworn, 

Triumph to see me caged in their mew, 

Tramphng my ruins with contempt and scorn. 

My perjuries were music to their dance. 

And now they heap disdain on my mischance. 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 35 

Our rock, say they, is riven ; oh, welcome hour ! 

Our eagle's wings are clipp'd that wrought so high ; 
Our thundering cloud made noise, but cast no shower; 

He prostrate lies that would have scaled the sky ; 
In woman's tongue our rubber found a rub, 
Our cedar now is shrunk into a shrub. 

These scornful words upbraid my inward thought, 
Proofs of their damned prompters' neighbour- voice : 

Such ugly guests still wait upon the naught. 
Fiends swarm to souls that swerve from virtue's 
choice : 

For breach of pHghted truth this true I try ; 

Ah ! that my deed thus gave my word the lie ! 

Once, and but once, too dear a once to twice it ! 

A heaven in earth, saints near myself I saw : 
Sweet was the sight, but sweeter loves did spice it, 

But sights and loves did my misdeed withdraw. 
From heaven and saints, to hell and devils estranged, 
Those sights to frights, those loves to hates are changed . 

Christ, as my God, was templed in my thought. 
As man. He lent mine eyes their dearest light ; 

But sin His temple hath to ruin brought, 

And now He lighteneth terror from His sight. 

Now of my late unconsecrate desires, 

Profaned wretch ! I taste the earned hires. 



J 



36 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

Ah ! sin, the nothing that doth all things file, 
Outcast from heaven, earth's curse, the cause of hell ; 

Parent of death, author of our exile. 

The wreck of souls, the wares that fiends do sell ; 

That men to monsters, angels turns to devils, 

Wrong of all rights, self-ruin, root of evils. 

A thing most done, yet more than God can do ; 

Daily new done, yet ever done amiss ; 
Friended of all, yet unto all a foe ; 

Seeming an heaven, yet hanishing from hliss ; 
Served with toil, yet paying nought hut pain, 
Man's deepest loss, though false-esteemed gain. 

Shot, without noise ; wound, without present smart; 

First seeming light, proving in fine a load ; 
Entering with ease, not easily won to part. 

Far in effects from that the shows ahode ; 
Indorsed with hope, suhscrihed with despair, 
Ugly in death, though life did feign it fair. 

Oh ! forfeiture of heaven ! eternal deht, 
A moment's joy ending in endless fires ; 

Our nature's scum, the world's entangling net. 
Night of our thoughts, death of all good desires. 

Worse than all this, worse than all tongues can say. 

Which man could owe, but only God defray. 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 37 

This fawning viper, dumb till he had wounded, 
With many mouths doth now upbraid my harms ; 

Mj sight was veil'd till I myself confounded, 
Then did I see the disenchanted charms : 

Then could I cut the anatomy of sin. 

And search with lynxes' eyes what lay within. 

Bewitching ill, that hides death in deceits, 

Still borrowing lying shapes to mask thy face, 

Now know I the deciphering of thy sleights ; 
A cunning dearly bought with loss of grace : 

Thy sugar'd poison now hath wi^ought so well. 

That thou hast made me to myself a hell. 

My eyes read mournful lessons to my heart. 

My heart doth to my thought the grief expound ; 

My thought the same doth to my tongue impart. 
My tongue the message in the ears doth sound ; 

My ears back to my heart their sorrows send ; 

Thus circhng griefs run round without an end. 

My guilty eye still seems to see my sin, 
All things are characters to spell my fall ; 

What eye doth read without, heart rues within, 
What heart doth rue, to pensive thought is gall, 

WTiich when the thought would by the tongue digest, 

The ear conveys it back into the breast. 



38 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

Thus gripes in all mj parts do never fail, 

Whose only league is now in bartering pains ; 

What I engross they traffic by retail, 

Making each others' miseries their gains : 

All bound for ever prentices to care, 

Whilst I in shop of shame trade sorrow's ware. 

Pleased with displeasing lot I seek no change ; 

I wealthiest am when richest in remorse ; 
To fetch my ware no seas nor lands I range ; 

For customers to buy I nothing force : 
My home-bred goods at home are bought and sold, 
And still in me my interest I hold. 

My comfort now is comfortless to live 

In orphan state, devoted to mishap ; 
But from the root that sweetest fruit did give, 

I scorned to graff in stock of meaner sap. 
No juice can joy me but of Jesse's flower. 
Where heavenly root hath true reviving power. 

At Sorrow's door I knock'd, they craved my name : 
I answer'd, one unworthy to be known. 

What one ? say they. One worthiest of blame. 
But who ? a wretch, not God's, nor yet his own. 

A man ? Oh no ! a beast ; much worse. What creature ? 

A rock. How call'd ? the rock of scandal, Peter ! 



ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 39 

From whence ? From Caiaphas' house. Ah ! dwell 
you there ? 

Sin's farm I rented there, but now would leave it. 
WTiat rent ? my soul. '^^Tiat gain ? unrest and fear. 

Dear purchase ! Ah ! too dear ; will you receive it? 
What shall we give ? Fit tears and times to plain me. 
Come in, they say. Thus griefs did entertain me. 

With them I rest true prisoner in their jail, 
Chain'd in the iron links of basest thrall ; 

Till Grace, vouchsafing captive soul to bail, 
In wonted see degraded loves install. 

Days pass in plaints, the night without repose ; 

I wake to sleep ; I sleep in waking woes. 

Sleep, Death's ally, oblivion of tears, 
Silence of passions, blame of angTy sore, 

Suspense of loves, secTu^ity of fears, 

Wrath's lenity, heart's ease, storm's calmest shore ; 

Senses' and souls' reprieval from all cumbers. 

Benumbing sense of ill with quiet slumbers ! 

Not such my sleep, but whisperer of dreams, 
Creating strange chimeras, feigning frights ; 

Of day-discom'ses giving fancy themes. 

To make dumb -show with worlds of antic sights ; 

Casting true griefs in fancy's forged mould. 

Brokenly telling tales rightly foretold. 



40 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

This sleep most fitly suiteth sorrow's bed, 
Sorrow, the smart of ill, Sin's eldest child ; 

Best, when mikind in kiUing whom it bred ; 
A rack for guilty thoughts, a bit for wild ; 

The scourge that whips, the salve that cures ofience : 

Sorrow, my bed and home, while life hath sense. 

Here sohtary muses nurse their griefs. 
In silent loneness burying worldly noise ; 

Attentive to rebukes, deaf to rehefs. 

Pensive to foster cares, careless of joys ; 

Euing life's loss under death's dreary roofs. 

Solemnizing my funeral behoofs. 

A self-contempt the shroud, my soul the corse. 
The bier, an humble hope, the hearse-cloth, fear ; 

The mourners, thoughts, in black of deep remorse, 
The hearse, grace, pity, love i;nd mercy bear : 

My tears, my dole, the priest, a zealous will, 

Penance, the tomb, and doleful sighs the knell. 

Christ ! health of fever'd soul, heaven of the mind, 
Force of the feeble, nurse of infant loves. 

Guide to the wandering foot, light to the bhnd. 
Whom weeping wins, repentant sorrow moves ; 

Father in care, mother in tender heart, 

Eevive and save me, slain with sinful dart ! 



ST. PETEWS COMPLAINT. 41 

If King Manasses, sunk in depth of sin, 

With plaints and tears recover'd grace and crown, 

A worthless worm some mild regard may win, 
And lowly creep, where flying threw it down. 

A poor desire I have to mend my ill, 

I should, I would, I dare not say, I will. 

I dare not say I will, but wish I may ; 

My pride is check'd, high words the speaker spilt. 
My good, O Lord ! Thy gift. Thy strength mistay, 
y Give what Thou bidst, and then bid what Thou wilt. 
Work with me what of me Thou dost request, 
Then will I dai^e the worst and love the best. 

Prone look, cross'd arms, bent knee and contrite heart. 
Deep sighs, thick sobs, dew'd eyes and prostrate 
pray'rs. 

Most humbly beg release of earned smart, 
And saving shroud in mercy's sweet repairs. 

If justice should my wrongs with rigour wage. 

Fears would despaks, ruth breed a hopeless rage. 

Lazar at pity's gate I ulcer'd lie. 

Craving the refuse crumbs of children's plate ; 
My sores I lay in view to Mercy's eye. 

My rags bear witness of my poor estate : 
Vhe worms of conscience that within me swarm, 
Prove that my plaints are less than is my harm. 



42 ST. PETER'S COMPLAINT. 

With mildness, Jesu, measure mine offence ; 

Let true remorse Thy due revenge abate; 
Let tears appease when trespass doth increase ; 

Let pity temper Thy deserved hate ; 
Let grace forgive, let love forget my fall : 
With fear I crave, with hope I humbly call, 

Eedeem my lapse with ransom of Thy love, 

Traverse th' indictment, rigour's doom suspend ; 

Let frailty favour, sorrows succour move. 

Be Thou Thyself, though changeling I offend. 

Tender my suit, cleanse this defiled den. 

Cancel my debts, sweet Jesu, say Amen ! 




43 



JMAEY IVIAGDALEJST'S BLUSH. 



X 




HE signs of sliame that stain mj 
blushing face 
Eise from the feeling of my raving fits^ 
^liose joy annoy, whose guerdon is 
disgrace, 
WTiose solace flies, whose sorrow never flits ; 
Bad seed I sow'd, worse seed is now my gain. 
Soon -dying mirth begat long-living pain. 



Now pleasure ebbs, revenge begins to flow ; 
One day doth work the wrath that many wrought ; 
Remorse doth teach my guilty thoughts to know 
How cheap I sold that Christ so dearly bought : 
Faults long unfelt doth conscience now bewray, 
WHiich cares must cure and tears must wash away, 

AU ghostly dints that grace at me did dart, 
Like stubborn rock I forced to recoil ; 
To other flights an aim I made my heart 
\Miose wounds, then welcome, now have wrought 

my foil. 
Woe worth the bow, woe worth the archer's might, 
That draw such arrows to the mark so right ! 



44 MABY MAGDALEN'S BLUSH. 

To pull them out, to leave them in is death, 
One to this world, one to the world to come ; 
Wounds may I wear and draw a doubtful breath, 
But then mj wounds will work a dreadful doom ; 

I And for a world whose pleasures pass away, 

I I lose a world whose joys are past decay. 

O sense ! O soul ! hap ! O hoped bliss ! 
You woo, you win, you draw, you drive me back ; 
Your cross encount'ring like their combat is, 
That never end but with some deadly wrack ; 
"When sense doth win, the soul doth lose the field. 
And present haps make future hopes to yield. 

O heaven ! lament, sense robbeth thee of saints. 
Lament, O souls ! sense spoileth you of grace ; 
Yet sense doth scarce deserve these hard complaints, 
Love is the chief, sense but the entering place ; 

|\ Yet grant I must, sense is not free from sin, 

'W For thief he is that thief admitteth in. 




45 




MAEY MAGDALEN'S COMPLAINT AT ^ 
CHEIST'S DEATH. 

ITH mj life from life is parted, 
Death, come take thj portion, 
"\f\nio survives when life is mnrder'd 
Lives hj mere extortion : 
All that live and not in God, 
Couch their life in death's abode. 



Silly stars must needs leave shining 
When the sun is shadowed, 

Borrow'd streams refrain their running 
When head springs are hindered : 

One that lives by other's breath, 

Dieth also by his death. 

O true life ! sith Thou hast left me, 

Mortal life is tedious ; 
Death it is to live without Thee, 

Death of all most odious : 
Turn again or take me to Thee, 
Let me die or live Thou in me ! 



46 MARY MAGDALEN'S COMPLAINT, 

"WTiere the truth once was and is not, 

Shadows are but vanity ; 
Showing want that help they cannot, 

Signs, not salves, of misery. 
Painted meat no hunger feeds, 
Dying life each death exceeds. 

With my love my life was nestled 

In the sun of happiness ; 
From my love my life is wrested 

To a world of heaviness : 
Oh ! let love my life remove, 
Sith I live not where I love ! 

O my soul ! that did unloose thee 

From thy sweet captivity, 
God, not I, did still possess thee. 

His, not mine, thy liberty : 
Oh ! too happy thrall thou wert. 
When thy prison was his heart. 

Spitefiil spear that break'st this prison. 

Seat of all felicity. 
Working thus with double treason 

Love's and life's delivery : 
Though my life thou draw'st away, 
Maugre thee my love shall stay. 



47 




TBIES GO BY TUENS. 

HE lopped tree in time may grow again ; 
Most naked plants renew both fruit 

and flower ; 
The sorest wight may find release of 
pain, 
The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower ; 
Times go by turns and chances change by course, 
From foul to fan*, from better hap to worse. 

The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow, 
She draws her favours to the lowest ebb ; 
Her time hath equal times to come and go, 
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web ; 
No joy so great but runneth to an end, 
No hap so hard but may in fine amend. 



Not always fall of leaf nor ever spring, 
No endless night yet not eternal day ; 
The saddest birds a season find to sing. 
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay ; 
Thus with succeeding tm*ns God tempereth all. 
That man may hope to rise yet fear to fall. 



48 



TIMES 00 BY TURNS. 



A chance may win that by mischance was lost ; 
The well that holds no great, takes little psh ; 
In some things all, in all things none are cross'd, 
Few all they need, but none have all they wish ; 
Unmeddled joys here to no man befall, 
Who least hath some, who most hath never all. 




49 




LOOK HOME. 

JETIEED thouglits enjoy their own 
delights, 
As beauty doth in self-beholding eye ; 
Man's mind a muTor is of heavenly 
sights, 
A brief wherein all marvels summed lie, 
Of fairest forms and sweetest shapes the store, 
Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. 

The mind a creatm-e is, yet can create, 

To nature's patterns adding higher skill ; 

Of finest works wit better could the state 

If force of wit had equal power of will : 

Device of man in working hath no end ; 

What thought can think another thought can mend. 

Man's soul of endless beauties image is. 

Drawn by the work of endless skill and might ; 

This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, 

And to discern this bliss a native hght ; 

To fi:ame God's image as His worths required, 

His might. His skill. His word and will conspired. 



50 



LOOK HOME, 



All that he had His image should present, 
All that it should present he could afford, 
To that he could afford his will was bent, 
This will was follow'd with performing word ; 
Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest. 
He should, he could, he would, he did the best. 




61 




FOETUNE'S FALSEHOOD. 

?N worldly merriments krketh much 
misery, 
Fly fortune's subtleties in baits of 
happiness ; 

Shroud hooks that swallowed without recovery, 
Murder the innocent with mortal heaviness. 

She sootheth appetites with pleasing vanities, 
TiU they be conquered with cloaked tyranny ; 
Then changing countenance with open enmities, 
She triumphs over them, scorning their slavery. 

With fawning flattery death's door she openeth. 
Alluring passengers to bloody destiny ; 
In oiFers bountiful in proof she beggareth, 
Man's ruins regist'ring her false felicity. 

Her hopes are fastened in bhss that vanisheth. 
Her smarts inherited with sure possession ; 
Constant in cruelty she never altereth, 
But from one violence to more oppression. 

To those that follow her favours are measured, 
As easy premises to hard conclusions ; 



52 FORTUNE'S FALSEHOOD. 

With bitter corrosives her joys are seasoned, 
Her highest benefits are but illusions. 

Her ways a labyrinth of wand'ring passages, 
Fools' common pilgrimage to cursed deities ; 
Whose fond devotion and idle menages 
Are waged with weariness in fruitless drudgeries. 

Blind in her favourites' foolish election, 
Chance in her arbiter in giving dignities, 
Her choice of vicious shows most discretion, 
Sith wealth the virtuous might wrest from piety. 

To humble supphants tyrant most obstinate. 
She suitors answereth with contrarieties ; 
Proud with petition, untaught to mitigate 
Rigour with clemency in hardest cruelties. 

Like tiger fugitive from the ambitious. 
Like weeping crocodile to scornful enemies. 
Suing for amity where she is odious. 
But to her followers forswearing courtesies. 

No wind so changeable, no sea so wavering. 

As giddy fortune in reeling vanities ; 

Now mad, now merciful, now fierce, now favouring, 

In all things mutable but mutabilities. 



53 




/ 



SCOEN NOT THE LEAST. 

lHEEE wards are weak and foes 
encountering strong, 
Where mightier do assault than do 
defend, 

The feebler part puts up enforced wrong, 
And silent sees that speech could not amend. 
Yet higher powers most think though they repine, 
When sun is set, the little stars will shine. 

While pike doth range the silly tench doth fly, 
And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish ; 
Yet pikes are caught when little fish go by. 
These fleet afloat while those do fill the dish. 
There is a time even for the worms to creep. 
And suck the dew while all their foes do sleep. 

The martin cannot ever soar on high, 

Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase ; 

The tender lark will find a time to fly, 

And fearful hare to run a quiet race. 

He that the growth on cedars did bestow. 

Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow. 



54 



SCOEN NOT THE LEAST. 



In Aman's pomp poor Mardocheus wept, 
Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe ; 
The Lazar pined while Dives' feast was kept, 
Yet he to heaven, to hell did Dives go. 
We trample grass and prize the flowers of Maj, 
Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away. 




55 




A CHILD MY CHOICE. 

'ET foUy praise that fancy loves, 
I praise and love that child 
^^liose heart no thought^ whose tongue 
no word, 
Whose head no deed defiled ; 

I praise him most, I love him best, 

AH praise and love is his ; 
AMiile him I love, in him I live, 

And cannot live amiss. 

Love's sweetest mark, land's highest theme, 

Man's most desired light, 
To love him life, to leave him death, 

To hve in him dehght. 

He mine bj gift, I him by debt. 

Thus each to other due. 
First friend he was, best friend he is, 

All times wiU try him true. 

Though young, yet wise ; though small, yet strong ; 
Though man, yet God he is ; 



56 A CHILD MY CHOICE. 

As wise he knOws, as strong he can, 
As God he loves to bless. 

His knowledge rules, his strength defends, 

His love doth cherish all ; 
His birth our joj, his life our light, 

His death our end of thrall. 

Alas ! he weeps, he sighs, he pants. 

Yet doth his angels sing ; 
Out of his tears, his sighs and throbs, 

Doth bud a joyful spring. 

Almighty babe, whose tender arms 

Can force all foes to fly. 
Correct my faults, protect my life. 

Direct me when I die ! 





57 



CONTEXT AJS^D EICH. "^ 

DWTELL in Grace's coiui:, 
Enrich'd with Yii'tue's rights ; 

Faith guides my wit, Love leads my will, 
Hope all my mind delights. 



In lowly vales I mount 

To pleasure's highest pitch ; 

My siUy shroud true honom* brings, 
My poor estate to rich. 

My conscience is my crown, 
Contented thoughts my rest ; 

My heart is happy in itself, 
My bliss is in my breast. 

Enough I reckon wealth ; 

A mean the sm-est lot, 
That Hes too high for base contempt, 

Too low for envy's shot. 

My wishes are but few, 

All easy to fulfil, 
I make the hmits of my power 

The bounds unto my will. 



58 CONTENT AND RICH, 

I have no hope but one, 

Which is of heavenly reign ; 

Effects attend, or not desire, 
All lower hopes refrain. 

I feel no care of coin, 

Well-doing is mj wealth ; 

\My mind to me an emj3ire is, 
While grace affordeth health. 

I clip high-climbing thoughts, 
The wings of swelling pride ; 

Their fall is worst, that from the height 
Of greatest honours slide. 

Sith sails of largest size 

The storm doth soonest tear, 

I hear so low and small a sail 
As freeth me from fear. 

I wrestle not with rage. 

While fury's flame doth burn ; 

It is in vain to stop the streams 
Until the tide doth turn. 

But when the flame is out. 
And ebbing wrath doth end, 

I turn a late enlarged foe 
Into a quiet friend. 



CONTENT AND RICH, 59 

And taught with often proof, 

A temper'd calm I find 
To be most solace to itself, 

Best cure for angry mind. 

Spare diet is my fare, 

My clothes more fit than fine ; 
I know I feed and clothe a foe 

That pamper'd would repine. 

I envy not their hap, 

'WTiom favour doth advance ; / 
I take no pleasure in their pain, 

That have less happy chance. 

To rise by others' fall 

I deem a losing gain ; 
All states with others' ruins built, 

To ruin run amain. 

No chance of Fortune's calms 

Can cast my comforts down ; 
When Fortune smiles, I smile to think 

How quickly she will fi?own. 

And when in firoward mood 

She proves an angry foe, 
Small gain I found to let her come. 

Less loss to let her o^o. 



60 




/ 



LOSS IN DELAY. 

HUN delays, they breed remorse ; 
Take thy time while time is lent 
thee; 
Creeping snails have weakest force, 
Fly their fault lest thou repent thee. 
Good is best when soonest wrought, 
Lingered labours come to nought. 

Hoist up sail while gale doth last, 

Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure ; 

Seek not time when time is past, 
Sober speed is wisdom's leisure. 

After-wits are dearly bought, 

Let thy forewit guide thy thought. 

Time wears all his locks before. 
Take thy hold upon his forehead ; 

When he flies he turns no more, 
And behind his scalp is naked. 

Works adjourn' d have many stays, 

Long demurs breed new delays. 



LOSS IN BELAY, 61^ 

Seek thy salve Trhile sore is green, 
Fester'd wounds ask deeper lancing ; 

After-ciu'es are seldom seen/ 

Often sought scai^ce ever chancing. 

Time and place give best ad^e, 

Out of season, out of price. 

Crush the serpent in the head, 

Break ill eggs ere they he hatch' d ; 

Kill bad chickens in the tread, 

Fledged, they hardly can be catch'd. 

In the rising stifle ill, 

Lest it groTv against thy will. 

Drops do pierce the stubborn flint, 

!Not by force but often falling ; 
Custom kills with feeble dint. 

More by use than strength and vaUing. 
Single sands have little weight. 
Many make a di-awing ft'eight. 

Tender twigs are bent with ease. 
Aged trees do break with bending ; 

Young desires make little prease, 

Growth doth make them past amending. 

Happy man, that soon doth knock 

Babel's babes ao-ainst the rock I 




62 
LOVE'S SEEVILE LOT. 



OVE mistress is of many minds, 
Yet few know whom they serve ; 
They reckon least how little love 
Their service doth deserve. 



The will she robheth from the wit, 
The sense from reason's lore ; 

She is delightful in the rind, 
Corrupted in the core. 

She shroudeth vice in virtue's veil, 

Pretending good in ill ; 
She offer eth joy, affordeth grief, 

A kiss, where she doth kill. 

A honey-shower rains from her lips, 
Sweet lights shine in her face ; 

She hath the blush of virgin's mind. 
The mind of viper's race. 

She makes thee seek, yet fear to find ; 

To find but not enjoy ; 
In many frowns some gliding smiles, 

She yields, to more annoy. 



LOVE'S SERVILE LOT, 63 

She woos thee to come near her fire, 

Yet doth draw it from thee ; 
Far off she makes thy heart to fry, 

And yet to fr^eeze in thee. 

She letteth fall some luring baits, 

For fools to gather up ; 
To sweet, to sour, to every taste 

She tempereth her cup. 

Soft souls she hinds in tender twist, 

Small flies in spinner's weh ; 
She sets afloat some luring streams, 

But makes them soon to ebb. 

Her watery eyes have bm'ning force, 

Her floods and flames conspire ; 
Tears kindle sparks, sobs fael are, 

And sighs do blow her fire. 

May never was the month of love. 

For May is fall of flowers ; 
But rather April, wet by kind, 

For love is fuU of showers. 

Like tyrant, cruel wounds she gives. 

Like surgeon, salves she lends ; 
But salve and sore have equal force, 

For death is both their ends. 



64 LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. 

With soothed words enthralled souls 
She chains in servile bands ; 

Her eje in silence hath a speech, 
Which eye best understands. 

Her little sweet hath many sours ; 

Short hap immortal harms ; 
Her loving looks are murdering darts, 

Her songs, bewitching charms. 

Like winter rose and summer ice, 
Her joys are still untimely ; 

Before her hope, behind remorse. 
Fair first, in fine unseemly. 

Moods, passions, fancies, jealous fits. 

Attend upon her train ; 
She yieldeth rest without repose, 

A heaven in hellish pain. 

Her house is sloth, her door deceit. 
And slippery hope her stairs ; 

Unbashful boldness bids her guests, 
And every vice repairs. 

Her diet is of such delights 
As please, till they be past ; 

But then, the poison kills the heart 
That did entice the taste. 



LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. 

Her sleep in sin dotli end in wrath, 

Eemorse rings her awake ; 
Death calls her up, shame drives her out, 

Despairs her upshot make. 

Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, 

Leave off jour idle pain ; 
Seek other mistress for your minds, 

Love's service is in vain. 



^b 




66 



LIFE IS BUT LOSS. 



' Y force I live, in will I wish to die ; 
In plaints I passtlie length of lingering 

days ; 
Free would my soul from mortal body fly, 
And tread the track of death's desired ways : 
I Life is but loss where death is deemed gain, 
And loathed pleasures breed displeasing pain. 




Who would not die to kiU all murd'ring grieves ? 

Or who would live in never-dying fears ? 
Who would not wish his treasure safe from thieves. 

And quit his heart from pangs, his eyes from tears? 
Death parteth but two ever-fighting foes. 
Whose civil strife doth work our endless woes. 



Life is a wandering course to doubtful rest ; 

As oft a cursed rise to damning leap. 
As happy race to win a heavenly crest ; 

[N^one being sure what final fruits to reap : 
/ And who can like in such a life to dwell, 
i Whose ways are strict to heaven, but wide to hell ? 



LIFE IS BUT LOSS. 67 

Come, cruel deatli, why lingerest thou so long ? 

Wliat doth withhold thy dint from fatal stroke ? 
Now prest I am, alas ! thou dost me wrong, 

To let me live, more anger to provoke : 
Thy right is had when thou hast stopp'd my breath. 
Why shouldst thou stay to work my double death ? 

If Saul's attempt in falling on his blade 

As laAvfid were as eth to put in ure, ^^ 

If Samson's lean a common law were made, 
Of Abel's lot if all that would were sm^e. 

Then, cruel death, thou shouldst the tyrant play 

With none but such as wished for delay. 

Where life is loved thou ready art to kill, 

And to abridge with sudden pangs their joys ; 

Where life is loathed thou wilt not work their wiU, 
But dost adjourn their death to their annoy. 

To some thou art a fierce unbidden guest. 

But those that crave thy help thou helpest least. 

Avaunt, O viper ! I thy spite defy : 

There is a God that overrules thy force, 

Who can thy weapons to His will apply, 
And shorten or prolong our brittle course. 

I on His mercy, not thy might, rely ; h 

To Him I live, for Him I hope to die. 



is, 



J 

I DIE ALIVE. 




LIFE ! what lets thee from a quick 

decease ? 
O death ! what draws thee from a 
present prey ? 
Mj feast is done, my soul would be at ease, 
My grace is said, O death ! come take away. 

I live, but such a Hfe as ever dies ; 

I die, but such a death as never ends; 
My death to end my dying life denies. 

And life my loving death no whit amends » 

Thus still I die, yet still I do remain ; 

My living death by dying life is fed ; 
Grace more than nature keeps my heart ahve. 

Whose idle hopes and vain desires are dead. 

Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live ; 

Not where I love, but where I am, I die ; 
The life I wish must future glory give. 

The death I feel in present dangers he. 



69 



WHAT JOY TO LIVE. 



X 




"WAGE no war, yet peace I none enjoy ; 
I hope, I fear, I fry in freezing cold; 
I mount in mirth, still prostrate in 
annoy ; 

If all the world embrace yet nothing hold. 
All wealth is want where chiefest wishes fail, 
Yea life is loathed where love may not prevail. 



For that I love I long, but that I lack ; 

That other love I loathe, and that I have ; 
All worldly freights to me are deadly wrack, 

Men present hap, I future hopes do crave : 
They, loving where they Hve, long hfe require, 
To Hve where best I love, I death desire. 



Here loan is lent for love of filthy gain ; 

Most friends befriend themselves with friendship's 
show; 
Here plenty peril, want doth breed disdain ; 

Cares common are, joys faulty, short and few ; 
Here honour envied, meanness is despised ; 
Sin deemed solace, virtue little prized. 



70 WHAT JOY TO LIVE. 

Here beauty is a bait that, swallow'd, chokes, 
A treasure sought still in the owner's harms ; 

A light that eyes to murdering sights provokes, 
A grace that souls enchants with mortal charms ; 

A luring gain to Cupid's fiery slights, 

A baleful bliss that damns where it delights. 

Oh ! who would live so many deaths to try ? 

Where will doth wish that wisdom doth reprove, 
Where nature craves that grace must needs deny, 

Where sense doth like that reason cannot love, 
Where best in show in final proof is worst. 
Where pleasures upshot is to die accurst ? 





LIFE'S DEATH, LOVE'S LIFE. / 



HO lives in love, loves least to live, 
And long delays doth rue, 
If Him he love bj whom he lives, 
To whom all love is due. 



Who for our love did choose to live, 

And was content to die ; 
Who loved our love more than His life, 

And love with life did buy. 

Let us in life, yea with our life, 

Eequite His hving love ; 
For best we live when best we love. 

If love our life remove. 

^Tiere love is hot life hateful is, 
Their grounds do not agree ; 

Love where it loves, life where it lives, 
Desireth most to be. 

And sith love is not where it Hves, 

Nor liveth where it loves. 
Love hateth life that holds it back. 

And death it best approves. 



72 LIFE'S DEATH, LOVE'S LIFE. 

For seldom is He won in life 
Whom love doth most desire ; 

If won in love, jet not enjoy'd, 
Till mortal life expire. 

Life out of earth hath no abode, 
In earth love hath no place ; 

Love settled hath her joys in heaven, 
In earth hfe all her grace. 

I Mom'n, therefore, no true lover's death, 
I Life only him annoys ; 
I And when he taketh leave of life, 
Then love begins his joys. 




73 




AT HOIVIE IN HEAVEN. 

I AIE soul ! how long shall veils thy 
graces shroud? 
How long shall this exile withhold thy 
right? 
WTien will thy sun disperse his mortal cloudy 

And give thy glories scope to blaze their Hght ? 
Oh that a star, more fit for angels' eyes, 
Should pine in earth, not shine above the skies ! 

Thy ghostly beauty offered force to God ; 

It chained Him in Hnks of tender love ; 
It won His will with man to make abode ; 

It stay'd His sword, and did His wrath remove : 
It made the vigour of His justice yield, 
And crowned Mercy empress of the field. 

This lull'd our heavenly Samson fast asleep. 
And laid Him in om^ feeble nature's lap ; 

This made Him under mortal load to creep. 
And in our flesh His Godhead to enwrap ; 

This made Him sojourn with us in exile. 

And not disdain our titles in His style. 



74 AT HOME IN HEAVEN. 

This brought Him from the ranks of heavenly quires 
Into this vale of tears and cursed soil ; 

From flowers of grace into a world of briars^ 
From life to death, from bliss to baleful toU. 

This made Him wander in our pilgrim weed, 

And taste our torments to relieve our need. 

O soul ! do not thj noble thoughts abase, 
To lose thy loves in any mortal wight ; 

Content thy eye at home with native grace, 
Sith God Himself is ravish'd with thy sight ; 

If on thy beauty God enamour'd be. 

Base is thy love of any less than He. 

Give not assent to muddy-minded skill, 
That deems the feature of a pleasing face 

To be the sweetest bait to lure the will ; 

Not valuing right the worth of ghostly grace ; 

Let God's and angels' censure win belief, 

That of aU beauties judge our souls the chief. 

Queen Hester was of rare and peerless hue, 
And Judith once for beauty bare the vaunt ; 

But he that could our souls' endowments view, 
Would soon to souls the crown of beauty grant. 
I O soul ! out of thyself seek God alone : 

Grace more than thine, but God's, the world hath none. 



7^ 




LE^T) ILOYE IS LOSS. 

\ ISDEEMmG eye ! tliat stoopest to the 
lure 
Of mortal worths, not worth so worthy 
love ; 
AU beauties base, all graces are impure, 

That do thy erring thoughts from Gocl remove. 
Sparks to the fire, the beams yield to the sun. 
All grace to God, fr'om whom all graces run. 

If picture move, more shoidd the pattern please ; 

'No shadow can with shadow'd thing compare, 
And fairest shapes, whereon om' loves do seize. 

But folly signs of God's high beauty are. 
Go, starving sense, feed thou on earthly mast ; 
True love is heaven, seek thou thy sweet repast. 

Glean not in barren soil these offal ears, 

Sith reap thou may'st whole harvests of dehght ; 

Base joys in griefs, bad hopes do end in fears. 
Lewd love in loss, evil peace in deadly fight : 

God's love alone doth end in endless ease. 

Whose joys in hope, whose hope concludes in peace. 



76 LEWD LOVE IS LOSS. 

Let not the luring train of fancy's trap. 

Or gracious features, proofs of Nature's skill, 

Lull Reason's force asleep in Error's lap, 
Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will. 

The fairest flowers have not the sweetest smell ; 

A seeming heaven proves oft a damning hell. 

Self-pleasing souls, that play with beauty's bait. 
In shining shroud may swallow fatal hook ; 

Where eager sight on semblant fair doth wait, 
A lock it proves, that first w^as but a look : 

The fish with ease into the net doth glide, 

But to get out the way is not so wide. 

So long the fly doth dally with the flame. 
Until his singed wings do force his fall ; 

So long the eye doth follow fancy's game. 
Till love hath left the heart in heavy thrall. 

Soon may the mind be cast in Cupid's jail, 

But hard it is imprison'd thoughts to bail. 

Oh ! loathe that love whose final aim is lust, 
Moth of the mind, eclipse of reason's light ; 

The grave of grace, the mole of JN'ature's rust. 
The wrack of wit, the wrong of every right. 

In sum, an ill whose harms no tongue can teU ; 

In which to live is death, to die is hell. 




LOVE'S GAEDEN GEIEF. 

. AIN loves, avaunt ! infamous is jour 
pleasure. 
Your joys deceit ; 
Your jewels jests, and worthless trash 
jour treasure, 
Fools' common bait. 
Your palace is a prison that allureth 
To sweet mishap, and rest that pain procureth. 

Your garden grief hedged in with thorns of envj 

And stakes of strife ; 
Your allies error gravel'd with jealousy 

And cares of life ; 
Your branches seats enwrapp'd with shades of sad- 
ness ; 
Your arbours breed rough fits of raging madness. 

Your beds are sown with seeds of all iniquitj 

And poisoning weeds, 
^\^lOse stalks ill thoughts, whose leaves words full 
of vanit J, 

Whose fruits misdeeds ; 
Whose sap is sin, whose force and operation, 
To banish grace and work the soul's damnation. 



78 LOVE'S GARDEN ORIEF. 

Your trees are dismal plants of pining corrosives, 

Whose root is ruth, 
Whose bark is bale, whose timber stubborn fantasies, 

"WTiose pith untruth ; 
On which in lieu of birds whose voice delighteth. 
Of guilty conscience screeching note affi?ighteth. 

Yoiu" coolest summer gales are scalding sighings, 

Your showers are tears ; 
Your sweetest smell the stench of sinful living. 

Your favours fears ; 
Your gardener Satan, all you reap is misery. 
Your gain remorse and loss of all felicity. 





FEOM FOETTOsT^'S EEACH. 

ET fickle Fortune run her blindest race, 
I settled liave an unremoved mind ;. 
I scorn to be [the] game of Fancy's 
chase, 

Or vane to show the change of every wind. 
Light giddy humom-s, stinted in no rest, 
Still change their choice, yet never choose the best. 

My choice was guided by foresightful heed, 

It was averred with appro^dng will ; 
It shall be foUow'd with performing deed, 

And seaFd with vow, till death the chooser kill. 
Yet death, though final date of vain desires. 
Ends not my choice, which Avith no time expires. 

To beauty's fading bliss I am no thrall ; 

I bury not my thoughts in metal mines ; 
I aim not at such fame as feareth fall ; 

I seek and find a light that ever shines : 
Whose glorious beams display such heavenly sights, 
As yield my soul the sum of all delights. 



80 



FROM FORTUNE'S REACH. 



My light to love, my love to light doth guide, — 
To life that lives by love, and loveth light ; 

By love to one, to whom all loves are tied 
By duest debt, and never equall'd right ; 

Eyes' light, heart's love, soul's truest life He is, 

Consorting in three joys one perfect bliss. 




81 




A PANCY TUENED TO A SINNEE'S 
COMPLAINT* 

E that his mirth hath lost^ 
Whose comfort is to rue ; 
WTiose hope is salve, whose faith is 
crazed, 
Whose trust is found untrue ; 

If he have held them dear, 

And cannot cease to moan, 
Come let him take his place by me. 

He shall not rue alone. 

But if the smallest sweet 

Be mix'd with all his sour ; 
If in the day, the month, the year, 

He feel one lighting hour ; 

Then rest he with himself, 

He is no mate for me. 
Whose time in tears, whose race in ruth, 

Whose life in death must be. 

* In MS. ** Master Dier's Fancy turned to a Sinner's 
Complaint.'' 

a 



82 A FANCY TURNED TO 

Yet not the wished death, 
That feels in plaint or lack, 

That making free the better part 
Is only nature's wrack. 

Oh no ! that were too well ; 

My death is of the mind, 
That always yields extremest pangS;, 

Yet threatens worse behind. 

As one that lives in show, 

And inwardly doth die, 
Whose knowledge is a bloody field, 

Where virtue slain doth lie ; 

Whose heart the altar is. 
And host a God to move, 

From whom my evil fears revenge. 
His good doth promise love. 

My fancies are like thorns 

In which I go by night ; 
My frighted wits are hke a host 

That force hath put to flight. 

My sense is passion's spy. 
My thoughts like ruins old, 

Which show how fair the building was 
While grace did it uphold. 



A SIJSrJSrEB'S COMPLAINT. 83 

And still before mine eyes 

My mortal fall they lay ; 
Whom grace and virtue once advanced, 

Now sin hath cast away. 

Oh thoughts ! no thoughts but wounds, 

Sometime the seat of joy, 
Sometimes the store of quiet rest, 

But now of all annoy. 

I sow'd the soil of peace. 

My bliss was in the spring ; 
And day by day the fruit I eat 

That virtue's tree did bring. 

To nettles now my corn, 

My field is tm^n'd to flint. 
Where I a heavy harvest reap 

Of cares that never stint. 

The peace, the rest, the life, 

That I enjoy'd of yore. 
Were happy lot, but by their loss 

My smart doth sting the more. 

So to unhappy men. 

The best fr^ames to the worst ; 
Oh time ! oh place ! where thus I fell ; 

Dear then, but now accurst. 



84 A FANCY TURNED TO 

In was stands mj delight, 

In is and shall my woe ; 
My horror fastened in the yea, 

My hope hang'd in the no. 

Unworthy of relief, 

That craved it too late, 
Too late I find, I find too well, 

Too well stood my estate. 

Behold, such is the end 

That pleasure doth procure. 

Of nothing else but care and plaint 
Can she the mind assure. 

Forsaken first by grace, 
By pleasure now forgotten ; 

Her pain I feel, but grace's wage 
Have others from me gotten* 

Then grace where is the joy 

That makes thy torments sweet ? 

Where is the cause that many thought 
Their deaths through thee but meet? 

Where thy disdain of sin. 
Thy secret sweet delight? 

Thy sparks of bliss, thy heavenly rays, 
That shined erst so bright ? 



A SINNSB'S COMPLAINT. S^ 

Oh ! that thej were not lost. 

Or I could it excuse ; 
Oh ! that a dream of feigned loss 

My judgment did abuse ! 

frail inconstant flesh ! 
Soon wrapt in every gin^ 

Soon wrought thus to betray thy soul, 
And plunge thyself in sin. 

Yet have I but the fault, 

And not the faulty one, 
Nor can I rid from me the mate 

That forceth me to moan. 

To moan a sinner's case, 

Than which was never worse. 
In prince or poor, in young or old. 

In bliss or full of curse. 

Yet God's must I remain, 

By death, by wrong, by shame ; 

1 cannot blot out of my heart 

That grace wrought in His name. 

I cannot set at nought 

Whom I have held so dear ; 
I cannot make Him seem afar 

That is indeed so near. 



86 A FANCY TURNED TO 

Not that I look henceforth 
For love that erst I found ; 

Sith that I brake mj plighted troth 
To build on fickle ground. 

Yet that shall never fail 

Which my faith has in hand ; 

I gave my vow, my vow gave me. 
Both vow and gift shall stand. 

But since that I have sinn'd. 
And scourge none is to ill, 

I yield me captive to my curse. 
My hard fate to ftdfil. 

The solitary wood 

My city shall become ; 
The darkest dens shall be my lodge. 

In which I rest or come. 

A sandy plot my board, 

The worms my feast shall be, 

^Tierewith my carcass shall be fed. 
Until they feed on me. 

. My tears shall be my wine. 
My bed a craggy rock ; 
My harmony the serpent's hiss, 
The screeching owl my clock. 



A SINI^EBS COMPLAINT. 

Mj exercise, remorse 

And doleful sinners' lays ; 
My book, remembrance of my crimes, 

And faults of former days. 

My walk, the path of plaint, 

My prospect into hell 
WTiere Judas and his cursed crew 

In endless pain do dwell. 

And though I seem to use 

The feigning poet's style. 
To figure forth my careful plight, 

My fall and my exile. 

Yet is my grief not feign'd, 
Wherein I starve and pine ; 

Who feeleth most shall think it least. 
If his compare with mine. 




88 



DAVID'S PECCAVI * 



?N eaves sole sparrow sits not more alone, 
Nor mourning pelican in desert wild, 
Than silly I that solitary moan. 
From highest hopes to hardest hap 
exiled : 
Sometime, oh, blissful time ! was virtue's meed 
Aim to my thoughts, guide to my word and deed. 




But fears now are my feres, grief my dehght, 
My tears my drink, my famish'd thoughts my bread ; 

Day full of dumps, nurse of unrest the night. 
My garments give a bloody field my bed ; 

My sleep is rather death than death's ally. 

Yet kill'd with murdering pangs I cannot die. 



This is the change of my ill charged choice, 
Euth for my rest, for comforts care I find ; 

To pleasing tunes succeed a plaining voice. 
The doleful echo of my wailing mind ; 

Which, taught to know the worth of virtue's joys. 

Doth hate itself, for loving fancy's toys. 

* In Douay Edition, " St. Peter's." 



DA riD'S PECCA VL 89 

If wiles of wit had overwrought my will. 
Or subtle trains misled my steps away, 

My foil had found excuse in want of skill, 
HI deed I might, though not ill doom, deny. 

But wit and will must now confess with shame, 

Both deed and doom to have deserved blame. 

In fancy, deem'd fit guide to lead my way, 
And as I deem'd I did pursue her track, 

Wit lost his aim and wiU was fancy's prey ; 
The rebel won, the ruler went to wrack. 

But now sith fancy did with foUy end. 

Wit bought with loss, will taught by wit wiU mend. 




90 




SIN'S HEAVY LOAD. 

LOED ! my sins doth overcharge thy 

breast, 
The poise thereof doth force thy knees 
to bow ; 
Yea, flat thou fallest with my faults oppressed, 

And bloody sweat runs trickling from thy brow : 
But had they not to earth thus pressed thee, 
Much more they would in hell have pester'd me. 

This globe of earth doth thy one finger prop, 
The world thou dost within thy hand embrace ; 

Yet all this weight of sweat drew not a drop, 
Nor made thee bow, much less fall on thy face ; 

But now thou hast a load so heavy found. 

That makes thee bow, yea fall flat to the ground. 

O Sin ! how huge and heavy is thy weight. 
That weighest more than aU the world beside ; 

Of which when Christ had taken in His freight, 
The poise thereof His flesh could not abide. 

Alas ! if God Himself sink under sin. 

What will become of man that dies therein ? 



SIN'S HEAVY LOAD. 91 

First flat thou fell'st wliere earth did thee receive. 
In closet pure of Clary's yii^gin breast ; 

And now thou fall'st of earth to take thy leave, 
Thou kissest it as cause of thy unrest : 

O lovmg Lord ! that so dost love thy foe 

As thus to kiss the ground where he doth go ! 

Thou, minded in thy heaven our earth to wear. 
Doth prostrate now thy heaven oiu: earth to bless ; 

As God to earth thou often wert severe, 

As man thou seal'st a peace with bleeding kiss : 

For as of souls thou common father art, 

So is she mother of man's other part. 

She shortly was to drink the dearest blood, 
And yield thy soul away to Satan's cave ; 

She shortly was thy corse in tomb to sliroud. 
And with them all thy Deity to have ; 

JS'ow then in one thou jointly yieldest all. 

That several to earth should shortly fall. 

O prostrate Chi^ist ! erect my crooked mind ; 

Lord ! let thy fall my flight from earth obtain ; 
Or if I still must needs in earth be shi^ined, 

Then, Lord ! on earth come fall yet once again ; 
And either yield with me in earth to lie. 
Or else with thee to take me to the sky ! 



92 




JOSEPH'S AMAZEMENT. 

*HEN Christy by growth, disclosed His 
descent 
Into tlie pure receipt of Mary's breast, 
Poor Joseph, stranger yet to God's 
intent, 
With doubts of jealous thoughts was soreoppress'd; 
And, wrought with divers fits of fear and love, 
He neither can her free nor faulty prove. 

Now sense, the wakeful spy of jealous mind, 
By strong conjectures deemeth her defiled ; 

But love, in doom of things best loved blind. 

Thinks rather sense deceived than her with child ; 

Yet proofs so pregnant were, that no pretence 

Could cloke a thing so clear and plain in sense. 

Then Joseph, daunted with a deadly wound. 

Let loose the reins to undeserved grief ; 
His heart did throb, his eyes in tears were drown'd. 

His life a loss, death seem'd his best relief; 
The pleasing relish of his former love 
In gallish thoughts to taste doth bitter prove, 



JOSEPH'S AJSIAZEMENT. 93 

One foot he often setteth forth of door. 

But t'other's loath uncertain ways to tread ; 

He takes his fardel for his needful store, 

He casts his inn where first he means to hed ; 

But still ere he can frame his feet to go, 

Love winneth time till all conclude in no. 

Sometime, grief adding force, he doth depart, 
He will, against his will, keep on his pace ; 

But straight remorse so racks his ruing heart. 
That hasting thoughts yield to a pausing space ; 

Then mighty reasons press him to remain. 

She whom he flies doth win him home again. 

But when his thought, hy sight of his abode, 
Presents the sign of misesteemed shame, 

Eepenting every step that back he trod. 

Tears drown the guides, the tongue the feet doth 
blame ; 

Thus warring with himself a field he fights, 

WTiere every wound upon the giver Ughts. 

And was my love, quoth he, so lightly prized ? 

Or was our sacred league so soon forgot ? 
Could vows be void, could virtues be despised ? 

Could such a spouse be stain'd with such a spot ? 
wretched Joseph ! that hast lived so long, 
Of faithful love to reap so grievous wrong ! 



94 JOSEPH'S AMAZEMENT. 

Could such a worm breed in so sweet a wood ? 

Could in so chaste demeanour lurk untruth ? 
Could vice lie hid where virtue's image stood ? 

Where hoary sageness graced tender youth ? 
Where can affiance rest to rest secure ? 
In virtue's fairest seat faith is not sure. 

AU proofs did promise hope a pledge of grace, 
Whose good might have repaid the deepest iU ; 

Sweet signs of purest thoughts in saintly face 
Assured the eye of her unstained will. 

Yet in this seeming lustre seem to lie 

Such crimes for which the law condemns to die. 



But Joseph's word shall never work her woe : 
I wish her leave to hve, not doom to die ; 

Though fortune mine, yet am I not her foe, 
She to herself less loving is than I : 

The most I wiU, the less I can, is this, 

Sith none may salve, to shun that is amiss. 

Exile my home, the wilds shall be my walk. 
Complaints my joy, my music mourning lays ; 

With pensive griefs in silence will I talk. 

Sad thoughts shall be my guides in sorrow's ways : 

This course best suits the care of careless, mind. 

That seeks to lose what most it joy'd to find. 



JOSEPH'S AMAZEMENT. 95 

Like stocked tree whose branclies all do fade, 
Whose leaves do fall and perish'd fruit decay ; 

Like herb that grows in cold and barren shade, 
Where darkness drives all quick'ning heat away ; 

So must I die, cut from my root of joy, 

And thrown in darkest shades of deep annoy. 

But who can fly from that his heart doth feel ? 

WTiat change of place can change implanted pain? 
Eemoving moves no hardness ft"om the steel ; 

Sick hearts, that shift no fits, shift rooms in vain. 
Where thought can see, what helps the closed eye ? 
Where heart pursues, what gains the foot to fly ? 

Yet still I tread a maze of doubtfid end ; 

I go, I come, she draws, she drives away ; 
She wounds, she heals, she doth both mar and mend. 

She makes me seek and shun, depart and stay ; 
She is a friend to love, a foe to loathe. 
And in suspense I hang between them both. 




96 







NEW PEIlSrCE, NEW POMP. 



EHOLD a sillj tender babe. 
In freezing winter night, 
In homely manger trembhng lies ; 
Alas ! a piteous sight. 



The inns are full, no man will yield 

This little pilgrim bed ; 
But forced he is with silly beasts 

In crib to shroud his head. 

Despise him not for lying there, 
First what he is enquire ; 

An orient pearl is often found 
In depth of dirty mire. 

Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish, 
Nor beast that by him feed ; 

Weigh not his mother's poor attire, 
Nor Joseph's simple weed. 

This stable is a prince's court, 
The crib his chair of state ; 

The beasts are parcel of his pomp, 
The wooden dish his plate. 



NEW PBINOE, NEW POMP. 

The persons in that poor attire 

His royal hveries wear ; 

The Prince Himself is come from heaven, 

This pomp is praised there. 

With joy approach, O Christian wight ! 
Do homage to thy King ; 
And highly praise this humhle pomp 
Which He from heaven doth bring. 




H 




THE BUENING BABE. 

' S I in hoary winter's night stood shivering 
in the snow, 
Surprised I was with sudden heat which 
made my heart to glow ; 
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was 

near, 
A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear, 
Who scorched with exceeding heat such floods of 

tears did shed, 
As though His floods should quench His flames with 

what His tears were fed ; 
Alas ! quoth He, but newly born in fiery heats of fry, 
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my 

fire but I ! 
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding 

thorns ; 
Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame 

and scorns ; 
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals ; 
The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled 

souIb; 



THE BURNING BABE. 



99 



For which, as now on fii^e I am, to work them to 
their good, 

So AYill I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood : 

With this He vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrunk 
away, 

And straight I called unto mind that it was Christ- 
mas-day. 




100 




NEW HEA^^lSr, NEW WAE. 

OME to your heaven, jou heavenly 
quires ! 
Earth hath the heaven of your desires; 
Eemove your dwelling to your God, 
A stall is now His hest abode ; 
Sith men their homage doth deny, 
Come, angels, all their faults supply. 

His chilling cold doth heat require. 
Come, seraphim, in lieu of fire ; 
This little ark no cover hath. 
Let cherubs' wings his body swathe ; 
Come, Eaphael, this babe must eat, 
Provide oiu* little Toby meat. 

Let Gabriel be now His groom. 
That first took up His earthly room ; 
Let Michael stand in His defence, 
Whom love hath link'd to feeble sense ; 
Let graces rock when He doth cry, 
And angels sing this lullaby. 



NEW HEAVEN, NEW WAE. 101 

The same you saw in heavenly seat, 
Is He that now sucks Mary's teat ; 
Agnize your King a mortal wight, 
His borrow'd weed lets not your sight ; 
Come, kiss the manger where He lies ; 
That is your bliss above the skies. 

This Httle babe so few days old, 

Is come to rifle Satan's fold ; 

AU hell doth at His presence quake. 

Though He Himself for cold do shake ; 

For in this weak unarmed wise 

The gates of hell He will surprise. 

With tears He fights and wins the^ field, 
His naked breast stands for a shield. 
His battering shot are babish cries. 
His arrows, looks of weeping eyes, 
His martial ensigns, cold and need. 
And feeble flesh His warrior's steed. 



His camp is pitched in a stall. 

His bulwark but a broken wall. 

His crib His trench, hay- stalks His stakes. 

Of shepherds He His muster makes • 

And thus, as sm^e His foe to wound, 

The angels' trumps alarum sound. 



102 NEW HEAVEN, NEW WAIt. 

My soul, with Christ join thou in fight ; 
Stick to the tents that He hath pight ; 
Within His crib is surest ward, 
This little babe will be thy guard ; 
If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy, 
Then flit not from this heavenly boy. 




MiEONI^r 

OR CEETAIN EXCELLENT POEMS 

AND SPIRITUAL HYMlS^S. 

COMPOSED BY 

E. S. 



LONDON: 

FEINTED BY J. HAVILAND. 

1634. 



105 



THE VIEGm MAEY'S CONCEPTIOJS". ^ 




UE second Eve puts on her mortal 
slu-oud, 
Earth breeds a heaven for God's new 
dwelling-place ; 
Kow riseth up Elias' little cloud, 

That growing shall distil the showers of grace ; 
Her being now begins, who, ere she ends, 
Shall bring our good that shall our evil mend. 

Both grace and nature did their force unite 
To make this babe the sum of all their best ; 

Our most her least, our million but her mite, 
She was at easiest rate worth all the rest : 

What grace to men or angels God did part. 

Was all united in this infant's heart. 

Four only wights bred without fault are named. 
And aU the rest conceived were in sin ; 

Without both man and wife was Adam framed. 
Of man, but not of wife, did Eve begin ; 

Wife without touch of man Christ's mother was, 

Of man and wife this babe was bred in grace. 



V 



106 



HEK NATIVITY. 

I OY in the rising of our orient star ' 
That shall bring forth the sun that 

lent her light ; 
Joy in the peace that shall conclude 
our war, 
And soon rebate the edge of Satan's spite ; 
Loadstar of all engulf 'd in worldly waves, 
The card and compass that from shipwreck saves. 




The patriarchs and prophets were the flowers 
Which time by course of ages did distil, 

And calFd into this little cloud the showers 

Whose gracious drops the world with joy shall fill ; 

Whose moisture suppli'th every soul with grace, 

And bringeth life to Adam's dying race. 




For God in earth she is the royal throne. 
The chosen cloth to make His mortal weed ; 

The quarry to cut out our corner-stone. 

Soil full of, yet free from, all mortal seed ; 
Tor heavenly flower she is the Jesse rod. 

The child of man, the parent of a God. 



107 




HEE ESPOUSALS. 

"IFE did she live, yet virgin did she die, 
Untouch'd of man, yet mother of a 
son; 
To save herself and child from fatal lie, 
To end the web whereof the thread was spun, 
In marriage knots to Joseph she was tied. 
Unwonted works with wonted veils to hide. 

God lent His paradise to Joseph's care, 
\Mierein he was to plant the tree of life ; 

This Son of Joseph's child the title bare. 

Just cause to make the mother Joseph's wife. 

Oh ! blessed man, betroth'd to such a spouse. 

More bless' d to live with such a child in house ! 

No carnal love this sacred league procured, 
AU vain dehghts were far from their assent ; 

Though both in wedlock bands themselves assured. 
Yet chaste by vow they seal'd their chaste intent: 

Thus had she vfrgins', wives', and widows' crown, 

And by chaste childbirth doubled her renown. 



108 




THE YIEGIN'S SALUTATION. 

! PELL Eva back and Ave shall you find, 
The first began, the last reversed our 
harms ; 
An angel's witching words did Eva 
blind, 
An angel's Ave disenchants the charms : 
Death first by woman's weakness enter'd in, 
In woman's virtue life doth now begin. 

O virgin breast ! the heavens to thee incline. 
In thee their joy and sovereign they agnize ; 

Too mean their glory is to match with thine, 
Whose chaste receipt God more than heaven did 
prize. 

Hail ! fairest heaven, that heaven and earth did bless. 

Where virtue's star God's sun of justice is ! 

With haughty mind to Godhead man aspired. 
And was by pride from place of pleasure chased ; 

With loving mind our manhood God desired. 
And as by love in greater pleasure placed ; 

Man labouring to ascend procured our fall, 

God yielding to descend cut off our thrall. 



109 




THE VISITATION. 

J EO CLAIMED queen and mother of a 
God, 
The light of earth, the sovereign of 
saints, 
With pilgrim foot up tiring hihs she trod, 

And heavenly style with handmaids' toil acquaints : 
Her youth to age, herself to sick she lends. 
Her heart to God, to neighbom- hand she bends. 

A prince she is, and mightier prince doth bear, 
Yet pomp of princely train she would not have ; 

But doubtless heavenly quires attendant were. 
Her child from harm, herself from fall to save : 

Word to the voice, song to the tune she brings, 

The voice her word, the tune her ditty sings. 

Eternal hghts enclosed in her breast 

Shot out such piercing beams of burning love, 

That when her voice her cousin's ears possess'd. 
The force thereof did force her babe to move : 

With secret signs the children greet each other. 

But open praise each leaveth to his mother. 



]10 




THE NATIVITY OP CHRIST * 

EHOLD the father is his daughter's son, 
The bird that built the nest is hatch'd 
therein, 
The old of years an hour hath not 
outrun, 
Eternal hfe to hve doth now begin, 
The word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep, 
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep. 

O dying souls ! behold your living spring ! 

O dazzled eyes ! behold your sun of grace ! 
Dull ears attend what word this word doth bring ! 

Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace ! 
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs, 
This life, this light, this word, this joy repairs. 

Gift better than Himself God doth not know, 
Gift better than his God no man can see ; 

This gift doth here the giver given bestow, 
Gift to this gift let each receiver be : 

God is my gift. Himself He freely gave me, 

God's gift am I, and none but God shall have me. 

* Transferred from the Edition of ** St. Peter's Com- 
plaint" of 1634. 



THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST. Ill 

Man alter'd was by sin from man to beast; 

Beast's food is hay, hay is all mortal flesh ; 
Now God is flesh, and lives in manger press'd, 

As hay the brutest sinner to refresh: 
Oh happy field wherein this fodder grew, 
Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew ! 





112 



HIS CIECUMCISION. 

[HE head is lanced to work the body's 
cure, 
With ang'ring salve it smarts to heal 
our wound ; 
To faultless Son, from all offences pure, 

The faulty vassal's scourges do redound ; 
The judge is cast, the guilty to acquit, 
The sun defaced, to lend the star his light. 

The vein of life distilleth drops of grace, 
Our rock gives issue to a heavenly spring ; 

Tears from His eyes, blood streams from wounded 
place. 
With showers to heaven of joy a harvest bring : 

This sacred dew let angels gather up, 

Such dainty drops best fit their nectar'd cup. 

With weeping eyes His mother rued His smart, 
If blood from him, tears came from her as fast ; 

The knife that cut His flesh did pierce her heart, 
The pain that Jesu felt did Mary taste ; 

His life and her's hung by one fatal twist, 

No blow that hit the Son the mother miss'd. 



113 




THE EPIPHAiS^Y. 

blaze the rising of this glorious sun 
A glittering star appeareth in the east, 
T^Tiose sight to pilgrim toils three 
sao'es won 

o 

To seek the light they long had in request ; 
And by this star to nobler star they pass, 
AMiose arms did their desired sun embrace. 

Stall was the sky wherein these planets shined, 
And want the cloud that did echpse their rays ; 

Yet through this cloud their light did passage find, 
And pierced these sages' hearts by secret ways, 

Which made them know the Euler of the skies, 

By infant's tongue and looks of babish eyes. 



Heaven at her light, earth blusheth at her pride. 
And of their pomp these peers ashamed be ; 

Their crowns, their robes, their trains they set aside, 
"WTien God's poor cottage clouts and crew they see ; 

All glorious things theu' glory now despise, 

Sith God contempt doth more than glory prize. 
I 



114 



THE EPIPHANY. 



r 



Three gifts they brought, three gifts thej bear away ; 

For incense, mirth and gold, faith, hope and love ; 
And with their gifts the givers' hearts do stay, 

Their mind from Christ no parting can remove ; 
His humble state, his stall, his poor retinue, 
They fancy more than all their rich revenue. 




115 




THE PEESEXTATION. 

be redeem'd the world's Eedeemer 
brought, 
Two silly turtle-doves for ransom 
pays; 
Oh ! ware with empires worthy to be bought, 

This easy rate doth sound, not drown thy praise ! 
For sith no price can to thy worth amount, 
A dove, yea love, due price thou dost account. 

Old Simeon cheap pennyworth and sweet 

Obtained, when Thee in arms he did embrace ; 

His weeping eyes Thy smihng looks did meet, 
Thy love his heart. Thy kisses bless'd his face : 

O eyes ! O heart ! mean sights and loves avoid, 

Base not yourselves, your best you have enjoy 'd ! 



O virgin pure ! thou dost these doves present 
As due to law, not as an equal price ; 

To buy such ware thou wouldst thyself have spent ; 
The world to reach His worth could not suffice ; 

If God were to be bought, not worldly pelf, 

But thou wert fittest price next God Himself. 



116 



/-^ 



THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 




' LAS ! our Day is forced to fly by night ! 
Light without light, and sun by 
silent shade. 
O nature, blush ! that sufferest such a 
wight, 
That in thy sun this dark eclipse hath made ; 
Day to his eyes, light to his steps deny. 
That hates the light which graceth every eye. 

Sun being fled the stars do less their light. 

And shining beams in bloody streams they drench ; 

A cruel storm of Herod's mortal spite 

Their lives and lights with bloody showers doth 
quench : 

The tyrant to be sure of murdering one. 

For fear of sparing Him doth pardon none. 

O blessed babes ! first flowers of Christian spring, 
^^lio though untimely cropp'd fair garlands frame, 

With open throats and silent mouths you sing 
His praise whom age permits you not to name ; 

Your tunes are tears, your instruments are swords, 

Your ditty death, and blood in lieu of words ! 



117 




CHEIST'S EETUEN OUT OF EGYPT. 

'.HEN Death and Hell their right in 
Herod claim, 
Christ from exile returns to native soil ; 
There with His life more deeply 
Death to maim, 
Than Death did life by all the infants spoil. 
He showed the parents, that their babes did moan, 
That all their lives were less than His alone. 

But hearing Herod's son to have the crown ; 

An impious offspring of a bloody sire ; 
To Nazareth, of heaven beloved town. 

Flower to a flower He fitly doth retire ; 
For flower He is and in a flower He bred, 
And from a throne now to a flower He fled. 

And well deserved this flower His fruit to view, 
^\liere He invested was in mortal weed ; 

Where first unto a tender bud He grew. 

In vkgin branch unstain'd mth mortal seed : 

Young flower, with flowers in flower well may He be, 

Eipe fruit. He must with thorns hang on a tree. 



118 




CHEIST'S CHILDHOOD.* 

pILL twelve years' age, how Christ His 
childhood spent 
All earthly pens unworthy w^ere to write ; 
Such acts to mortal eyes He did present, 
Whose worth not men but angels must recite : 
ISTo nature's blots, no childish faults defiled. 
Where grace was guide, and God did play the child. 

In springing locks lay crouched hoary wit. 
In semblant young, a grave and ancient port ; 

In lowly looks high majesty did sit, 

In tender tongue sound sense of sagest sort : 

[N^ature imparted all that she could teach. 

And God supplied where nature could not reach. 

His mirth of modest mien a mirror w^as ; 

His sadness temper'd with a mild aspect ; 
His eye to try each action was a glass, 

Whose looks did good approve and bad correct ; 
His nature's gifts. His grace. His word and deed, 
Well show'd that all did from a God proceed. 

* Transferred from the Edition of " St. Peter's Com- 
plaint" of 1634. 



119 




CHRIST'S BLOODY SWEAT. 

J AT soil, fiill spring, sweet olive, grape 
of bliss, 
That yields, that streams, that pours, 
that doth distil, 
Untill'd, undra^ii, unstamp'd, untoueh'd of press, 

Dear fruit, clear brooks, fau^ oil, sweet wine at will ! 
Thus Christ unforced prevents, in shedding blood. 
The wliips, the thorns, the nails, the spear and rood. 

He pelican's, he phoenix' fate doth prove, 

^Miom flames consume, whom streams enforce 
to die ; 

How burneth blood, how bleedeth bmniing love ? 
Can one in flame and stream both bathe and fry ? 

How could He join a phoenix' fiery pains 

In fainting pelican's still bleeding veins ? 

Elias once, to prove God's sovereign power. 
By prayer procured a fire of wond'rous force. 

That blood and water and wood did devour, 

Yea stones and dust beyond aU nature's com^se : 

Such fire is love that, fed with gory blood. 

Doth bmii no less than in the driest wood. 



120 CHEISrS BLOODY SWEAT. 

sacred fire ! come show thy force on me, 
That sacrifice to Christ I may return : 

If wither'd wood for fuel fittest be, 

If stones and dust, if flesh and blood will burn, 

1 wither'd am and stony to all good, 

A sack of dust, a mass of flesh and blood. 




121 




CHEIST'S SLEEPING FEIENDS. 

f-HEN Christ, with care and pangs of 
death oppressed, 
From frighted flesh a bloody sweat 
did rain ; 

And, full of fear, without repose or rest. 
In agony did pray and watch in pain ; 
Three sundry times He His disciples finds 
With heavy eyes, but far more heavy minds. 

With mild rebuke He warned them to wake. 
Yet sleep did still their drowsy senses hold ; 

As, when the sun the brightest shew doth make. 
In darkness shrouds the night-birds them enfold ; 

His foes did watch to work their cruel spite. 

His drowsy friends slept in His hardest plight. 

As Jonas sailed once fr^om Joppa's shore 
A boisterous tempest in the air did broil, 

The waves did rage, the thundering heavens did roar, 
The storms, the rocks, the lightnings threatened 
spoil ; 

The ship was billows' game and chance's prey. 

Yet careless Jonas mute and sleeping lay. 



122 CHBISTS SLEEPING FRIENDS. 

So now, though Judas, hke a bkist'ring gust, 
Do stir the furious sea of Jewish ire, 

Though storming troops, in quarrels most unjust. 
Against the back of all our bliss conspire, 

Yet these disciples sleeping lie secure. 

As though their wonted calm did still endure. 

So Jonas once, his weary limbs to rest. 
Did shroud himself in pleasant ivy shade, 

But lo ! while him a heavy sleep opprest. 

His shadowy bower to withered stalks did fade ; 

A canker-worm had gnawn the root away. 

And brought the glorious branches to decay. 

O gracious plant ! O tree of heavenly spring ! 

The paragon for leaf, for fruit and flower, 
How sweet a shadow did Thy branches bring 

To shroud these souls that chose Thee for their 
bower ! 
But now while they with Jonas fall asleep. 
To spoil their plant an envious worm doth creep. 

Awake, ye slumbering wights ! lift up your eyes, 
Mark Judas, how to tear your root he strives ; 

Alas ! the glory of your arbour dies. 

Arise and guard the comfort of your lives ; 

]N^o Jonas' ivy, no Zaccheus' tree. 

Were to the world so great a loss as He. 



123 



/^ 




THE VIEGIJST MAEY TO CHEIST ON THE 
CEOSS. 

iHxlT mist hath dimm'd that glorious 
face? 
\Yhat seas of grief mj sun doth toss? 
The golden rajs of heavenly grace 
Lie now eclipsed on the cross. 

Jesus, mj love, mj Son, nay God, 
Behold Thy mother wash'd in tears : 

Thy bloody wounds he made a rod 
To chasten these my later years. 

You cruel Jews, come work your ire 
Upon this worthless flesh of mine, 

And kindle not eternal fire 

By wounding Him who is divine. 

Thou messenger that didst impart 

His first descent into my womb. 
Come help me now to cleave my heart. 

That there I may my Son entomb. 



124 MARY TO CHRIST ON THE CROSS. 

You angels, all that present were 
To show His hirth with harmony, 

Why are you not now ready here, 
To make a mourning symphony ? 

The cause I know you wail alone, 

And shed your tears in secrecy, 
Lest I should moved be to moan, 

By force of heavy company. 

But wail, my soul, thy comfort dies. 
My woftd womb, lament thy fruit ; 

My heart give tears unto mine eyes, 
Let sorrow string my heavy lute. 




125 




A HOLY HYMX * 

EAISE, O Sion ! praise thj Saviour, 
Praise tlij captain and thj pastor, 

With hjTiins and solemn harmony. 
T\Tiat power affords perform in deed ; 
His worths all praises far exceed, 
No praise can reach His dignity. 

A special theme of praise is read, 
A living and life-giving bread. 

Is on this day exliibited ; 
Which in the supper of our Lord, 
To twelve disciples at His board 

None doubts was dehvered. 

Let our praise be loud and free, 
Full of joy and decent glee, 

With minds' and voices' melody ; 
For now solemnize we that day. 
Which doth with joy to us display 

The prince of this mystery. 

* Version of the '* Lauda Syon Salvatorem" of St. 
Thomas Aquinas. 



126 A HOLY HYMN, 

At tliis board of our new ruler, 
Of new law, new pasclial order 

The ancient rite abolisheth ; 
Old decrees be new annulled, 
Shadows are in truths fulfilled, 

Day former darkness finisheth. 

That at supper Christ performed, 
To be done He straitlj charged 

For His eternal memory. 
Guided by His sacred orders, 
Bread and wine upon our altars 

To saving host we sanctify. 

Christians are by faith assured 
That to flesh the bread is changed, 

The wine to blood most precious : 
That no wit nor sense conceiveth. 
Firm and grounded faith believeth, 

In strange efi'ects not cm*ious.* 

* The following twenty-four lines are omitted in the 
edition of 1630, and in their place are substituted, — 

" As staff of bread thy heart sustains, 
And cheerful wine thy strength regains, 

By power and virtue natural 5 
So doth this consecrated food, 
The symbol of Christ's flesh and blood, 

By virtue supernatural. 

The ruins of thy soul repair, 
Banish sin, horror and despair. 

And feed faith, by faith received : 
Angel's bread," &c. 



A ROLF HYMN. 127 

Under kinds two in appearance, 
Two in show but one in substance, 

Lie things beyond comparison ; 
Flesh is meat, blood drink most heavenly, 
Yet is Chiist in each kind wholly. 

Most free from all division. 

None that eateth Him dDth chew Him, 
IN'one that takes Him doth divide Him, 

Eeceived He whole persevereth. 
Be there one or thousands hosted, 
One as much as all received. 

He by no eating perisheth. 

Both the good and bad receive Him, 
But effects are diverse in them. 

True life or due destruction. 
Life to the good, death to the wicked, 
Mark how both alike received 

With far unhke conclusion. 

TVTien the priest the host divideth, 
Know that in each part abideth 

All that the whole host covered. 
Form of bread, not Chi^ist is broken, 
Xot of Christ, but of His token. 

Is state or stature altered. 



128 A HOLY HYMN. 

Angels' bread made pilgrim's feeding, 
Truly bread for children's eating, 

To dogs not to be offered. 
Signed by Isaac on the altar, 
By the lamb and paschal supper, 

And in the manna figured. 

Jesu, food and feeder of us, 

Here with mercy feed and friend us, 

Then grant in heaven felicity ! 
Lord of all, whom here Thou feedest, 
Fellows, heirs, guests with Thy dearest, 

Make us in heavenly company ! Amen. 




129 




SAESTT PETEE'S AFFLICTED MIND. 



F that the sick may groan, 
Or orphan mourn his loss ; 
If wounded wretch may rue his harms, 
Or caitiff show his cross : 



If heart consumed with care, 

May utter signs of pain ; 
Then may my hreast he sorrow's home, 

And tongue with cause complain. 

My malady is sin, 

And languor of the mind ; 
My hody hut a Lazar's couch 

Wherein my soul is pined. 

The care of heavenly kind 

Is dead to my relief; 
Forlorn, and left hke orphan child, 

With sighs I feed my grief. 

My wounds, with mortal smart 
My dying soul torment, 

K 



130 8T. PETER'S AFFLICTED MIND, 

And, prisoner to my own mishaps, 
My folly I repent. 

My heart is but the haunt 
Where all dislike doth keep ; 

And who can blame so lost a wretch, 
Though tears of blood he weep ? 




131 




SAINT PETER'S EEMOESE. 



EMOESE upbraids mj faults ; 
Self-blaming conscience cries ; 
Sin claims the liost of humbled thoughts 
And streams of weepmg eyes : 



Let penance, Lord, prevail ; 

Let sorrow sue release ; 
Let love be umpire in my cause, 

And pass the doom of peace. 

If doom go by desert, 
My least desert is death ; 

That robs from soul's immortal joys,. 
From body mortal breath. 

But in so high a God, 

So base a worm's annoy 
Can add no praise unto Thy power, 

No bliss unto Thy joy. 

Well may I fry in flames, 
Due fuel to hell-fire ! 



132 ST. PETEWS BEMOESE. 

But on a wretch to wreak Thj wrath 
Cannot be worth Thine ire. 

Yet sith so vile a worm 

Hath >\Tought his greatest spite, 
Of highest treasons well Thou maj'st 

In rigour him indite. 

Eut Mercy may relent, 
And temper Justice' rod, 

For mercy doth as much belong 
As justice to a God. 

If former time or place 
More right to mercy win. 

Thou first were author of myself, 
Then umpire of my sin. 

Did Mercy spin the thread 
To weave in Justice' loom, 

Wert then a father to conclude 
With dreadful judge's doom. 

It is a small relief 

To say I was Thy child. 
If, as an ill-deserving foe. 

From grace I am exiled. 



ST. PETER'S REMORSE, 133 

I was, I had, I could, 

All words importing want ; 
They are but dust of dead supplies, 

Where needftd helps are scant. 

Once to have been in bliss 

That hardly can retui^n, 
Doth but bewray from whence I fell, 

And wherefore now I mom^n. 

All thoughts of passed hopes 

Increase my present cross ; 
Like ruins of decayed joys. 

They still upbraid my loss. 

mild and mighty Lord ! 
Amend that is amiss ; 

My sin my sore, Thy love my salve, 
Thy cm^e my comfort is. 

Confirm Thy former deed, 
Eeform that is defiled ; 

1 was, I am, I will remain 

Thy charge, Thy choice, Thy child. 



134 




MAN TO THE WOUND IN CHEIST'S 
SIDE. 



PLEASANT spot ! place of rest ! 

O royal rift ! O worthy wound ! 
Come harbour me, a weary guest, 

That in the world no ease have found ! 



I lie lamenting at Thy gate, 
Yet dare I not adventure in : 

I bear with me a troublous mate. 
And cumber'd am with heaps of sin. 

Discharge me of this heavy load. 
That easier passage I may find, 

Within this bower to make abode. 
And in this glorious tomb be shrined. 

Here must I live, here must I die, 
Here would I utter all my grief; 

Here would I all those pains descry, 
Which here did meet for my relief. 

Here would I view that bloody sore, 
Which dint of spiteful spear did breed : 



MAN TO THE WOUND, ETC, 135 

The bloody wounds laid tliere in store, 
Would force a stony heart to bleed. 

Here is the spring of trickling tears, 
The mirror of all mourning wights, 

With doleful tunes for dumpish ears, 
And solemn shows for sorrowed sights. 

Oh, happy soul, that flies so high 

As to attain this sacred cave ! 
Lord, send me wings, that I may fly, 

And in this harbour quiet have ! 




130 




, / UPON THE IMAGE OF DEATH. 

* EFOEE mj face the picture hangs, 
That daily should put me in mind 
Of those cold names and hitter pangs, 
That shortly I am like to find : 
But yet, alas ! full little I 
Do think hereon that I must die. 

I often look upon a face 

Most ugly, grisly, bare and thin ; 
I often view the hollow place, 

Where eyes and nose had sometime been : 
I see the bones across that lie, 
Yet little think that I must die. 

I read the label underneath. 

That telleth me whereto I must ; 
I see the sentence eke that saith, 

Remember, man, thou art but dust : 
But yet, alas ! but seldom I 
Do think indeed that I must die. 

Continually at my bed's head 

An hearse doth hang, which doth me tell 



UPON THE IMAGE OF DEATH, 13*; 

That I ere morning may be dead, 

Though now I feel myself full well : 
But yet, alas ! for all this I 
Have little mind that I must die. 

The gown which I do use to wear, 
The knife wherewith I cut my meat, 

And eke that old and ancient chair 
^\liich is my only usual seat : 

All these do tell me I must die, 

And yet my life amend not I. 

My ancestors are turn'd to clay. 
And many of my mates are gone ; 

My youngers daily drop away. 
And can I think to 'scape alone ? 

Xo, no, I know that 1 must die, 

And yet my life amend not I. 

^oi Solomon, for all his wit, 

Nor Samson, though he were so strong, 
No king nor person ever yet 

Could 'scape, but Death laid him along : 
Wherefore I know that I must die, 
And yet my life amend not I. 

Though all the East did quake to hear 
Of Alexander's dreadful name, 



138 UPON THE IMAGE OF DEATH. 

And all the West did likewise fear 
To hear of Julius Csesar's fame, 
Yet both by Death in dust now lie ; 
Who then can 'scape, but he must die ? 

If none can 'scape Death's dreadftd dart, 

If rich and poor his beck obey ; 
If strong, if wise, if all do smart, 
Then I to 'scape shall have no way. 
j Oh ! grant me grace, O God ! that I 
i My life may mend, sith I must die. 




139 




A YALE OF TEAES. 

YALE there is, enwi^apt with di'eadM 
shades, 
TVhich thick of moiu^ning pines 
shi^oiids from the sun, 
^Yhere hanging chffs yield short and diunpish glades. 
And snoTTY flood with broken streams doth run. 

Wliere eye-room is fi'om rock to cloudy sky, 
From thence to dales with stony ruins strew'd, 

Then to the crushed water's frothy fry, 

Which tumhlethfrom the tops where snowisthaw'd. 

"VMiere ears of other sound can have no choice, 
But various blustering of the stubborn wind 

In trees, in caves, in straits with divers noise ; 
Which now doth hiss, now howl, now roar by kind. 

\Miere waters wrestle with encount'riDg stones, 
That break their streams and tm^n them into foam, 

The hollow clouds frill fr-aught with thund'ring groans, 
With hideous thumps discharge their pregnant 
womb. 



140 A VALE OF TEARS. 

And in the horror of this fearM quire 
Consists the music of this doleful place ; 

Ail pleasant birds from thence their tunes retire, 
Where none but heavy notes have any grace. 

Eesort there is of none but pilgrim wights, 

That pass with trembling foot and panting heart ; 

With terror cast in cold and shivering frights, 
They judge the place to terror framed by art. 

Yet nature's work it is, of art untouch' d, 
So strait indeed, so vast unto the eye, 

With such disorder'd order strangely couch'd. 
And with such pleasing horror low and high. 

That who it views must needs remain aghast. 
Much at the work, more at the Maker's might ; 

And muse how nature such a plot could cast 

Where nothing seemeth wrong, yet nothing right. 

A place for mated minds, an only bower 

Where everything do soothe a dumpish mood ; 

Earth lies forlorn, the cloudy sky doth lower. 

The wind here weeps, here sighs, here cries aloud. 

The struggling flood between the marble groans, 
Then roaring beats upon the craggy sides ; 

A little off, amidst the pebble stones. 

With bubbling streams and purling noise it glides. 



A VALE OF TEAES. 141 

The pines thick set, high grown and ever green, 
Still clothe the place with sad and mourning veil ; 

Here gaping cliff, there mossy plain is seen, 

Here hope doth spring, and there again doth quail. 

Huge massy stones that hang hy tickle stays, 
Still threaten fall, and seem to hang in fear ; 

Some withered trees, ashamed of their decays, 
Bereft of green are forced grey coats to wear. 

Here crystal springs crept out of secret vein. 
Straight find some envious hole that hides their 
grace ; 

Here seared tufts lament the want of rain, 

There thunder- wrack gives terror to the place. 

All pangs and heavy passions here may find 
A thousand motives suiting to their griefs. 

To feed the sorrows of their trouhled mind. 
And chase away dame Pleasm^e's vain reliefs. 

To plaining thoughts this vale a rest may be. 
To which firom worldly joys they may retire ; 

Where sorrow springs from water, stone and tree ; 
AMiere everything with mourners doth conspu'e. 

Set here, my soul, main streams of tears afloat, 
Here all thy sinfid foils alone recount ; 



142 A VALE OF TEARS, 

Of solemn tunes make thou the doleful note, 
That, by thy ditties, dolour may amount. 

When echo shall repeat thy painful cries, 
Think that the very stones thy sins bewray, 

And now accuse thee with their sad replies. 
As heaven and earth shall in the latter day. 

Let former faults be fuel of thy fire. 

For grief in hmbeck of thy heart to still 

Thy pensive thoughts and dumps of thy desire. 
And vapour tears up to thy eyes at will. 

Let tears to tunes, and pains to plaints be press'd, 
And let this be the burden of thy song, — 

Come, deep remorse, possess my sinful breast ; 
Delights, adieu ! I harbour'd you too long. 




143 




THE PEODIGAL CHILD'S SOUL ^^EACK. 



ISAJSTCHOE'D from a blissful shore, 
And launch' d into the main of cares ; 
Grown rich in vice, in virtue poor, 
Erom freedom fall'n in fatal snares ; 



I found myself on every side 
Enwrapped in the waves of woe, 

And, tossed with a toilsome tide. 
Could to no port for refuge go. 

The wrestling winds with raging blasts, 
Still held me in a cruel chase ; 

They broke my anchors, sails and masts. 
Permitting no reposing place. 

The boisterous seas, with swelHng floods. 
On every side did work their spite, 

Heaven, overcast with stormy clouds. 
Denied the planets' guiding hght. 

The hellish furies lay in wait 

To win my soul into their power. 



144 THE PRODIGAL CHILD'S 

To make me bite at every bait, 
Wherein my bane I might devour. 

Thus heaven and earth, thus sea and land, 
Thus storms and tempests did conspire, 

With just revenge of scourging hand, 
To witness God's deserved ire. 

I, plunged in this heavy plight, 

Found in my faults just cause of fear ; 

By darkness taught to know my light. 
The loss thereof enforced tears. 

I felt my inward bleeding sores. 

My fester'd wounds began to smart, 

Stept far within death's fatal doors. 
The pangs thereof were near my heart. 

I cried a truce, I craved a peace, 

A league with death I would conclude ; 

But vain it was to sue release, 
Subdue I must or be subdued. 

Death and deceit had pitch'd their snares, 
And put their wicked proofs in ure. 

To sink me in despairing cares. 

Or make me stoop to pleasure's lure. 



SOUL WRACK. 145 

They sought by their bewitching charms 

So to enchant my erring sense, 
That when they sought my greatest harms, 

I might neglect my best defence. 

My dazzled eyes could take no view, 
Xo heed of their deceiving shifts, 

So often did they alter hue, 

And practise new devised drifts. 

"With Syren's song they fed my ears, 

Till, lull'd asleep in Error's lap, 
I found these tunes tiu^n'd into tears. 

And short delights to long mishap. 

For I enticed to their lore, 

And soothed with their idle toys. 

Was trained to their prison door, — 
The end of aU such flying joys. 

"V^Tiere chain'd in sin I lay in thrall, 

Next to the dungeon of despair. 
Till Mercy raised me from my fall, 

And Grace my ruins did repair. 



146 




MAN'S CIVIL WAE. 

Y hovering thoughts would fly to heaven, 
And quiet nestle in the sky ; 
Fain would my ship in virtue's shore 
Without remove at anchor lie ; 



But mounting thoughts are haled down 
With heavy poise of mortal load ; 

And blustering storms deny my ship 
In virtue's haven secure abode. 

When inward eye to heavenly sights 
Doth draw my longing heart's desire. 

The world with jesses of delights 

Would to her perch my thoughts retire. 

Fond Fancy trains to Pleasure's lure, 
Though Keason stiffly do repine ; 

Though Wisdom woo me to the saint, 
Yet Sense would win me to the shrine. 

Where wisdom loathes, there fancy loves, 
And overrules the captive will ; 

Foes senses are to virtue's lore, 

They draw the wit their wish to fill. 



MAN'S CIVIL WAR, 147 

[Need craves consent of soul to sense, 

Yet divers bents breed civil fray ; 
Hard hap where halves must disagree, 

Or truce of halves the whole betray ! 

O cruel fight ! where fighting friend 
With love doth kill a favouring foe ; 

Where peace with sense is war with God, 
And self-delight the seed of woe ! 

Dame Pleasm^e's drugs are steep'd in sin, 
Their sugar'd taste doth breed annoy ; 

O fickle Sense ! beware her gin. 
Sell not thy soul for brittle joy ! 




148 




SEEK FLOWEES OF HEAVEN. 



OAE up mj soul unto thy rest, 
Cast off this loathsome load ; 
Long is the death of thine exile, 
Too long thy strict abode. 



Graze not on worldly withered wood. 

It fitteth not thy taste ; 
The flowers of everlasting spring 

Do grow for thy repast. 

Their leaves are stain'd in beauty's dye, 
And blazed with her beams. 

Their stalks enamel'd with delight. 
And limn'd with glorious gleams. 

Life-giving juice of Hving love 
Their sugar' d veins doth fill. 

And water'd with eternal showers 
They nectar'd drops distill. 

These flowers do spring from fertile soil, 
Though from unmanured field ; 



SEEK FLOWERS OF HEAVEN. 149 

Most glittering gold in lieu of glebe, 
These fragrant flowers do yield. 

Wtose sovereign scent surpassing sense 

So ravisheth the mind. 
That worldly weeds needs must he loathe 

That can these flowers find. 




ADDITIONAL POEMS. 



uJgr^ye^ 



153 




DECEASE, EELEASE. DUM MOEIOE, 
OEIOE.* 

[Addl. MSS. Brit. Mus. No. 10,422.] 

pHE pounded spice both taste and scent 
doth please, 
In fading smoke the force doth incense 
show; 

The perish'd kernel springeth with ijicrease, 
The lopped tree doth best and soonest grow. 

God's spice I was, and pounding was mj due, 
In fading breath my incense favour'd best ; 

Death was mj mean mj kernel to renew. 
By lopping shot I up to heavenly rest. 

Some things more perfect are in theu^ decay, 
Like spark that going out gives clearest Hght ; 

Such was my hap whose doleful dying day 
Began my joy, and termed Fortune's spite. 

Alive a Queen, now dead I am a Saint ; 

Once Mary caU'd, my name now Martyr is ; 

* On the Death of the martyred Mary Stuart, Queen of 
Scots . 



154 DECEASE, RELEASE. 

From earthly reign debarred by restraint, 
In lieu whereof I reign in heavenly bliss. 

My life my grief, my death hath wrought my joy, 
My friends my foil, my foes my weal procured ; 

My speedy death hath scorned long annoy. 
And loss of hfe and endless life assured. 

My scaffold was the bed where ease I found, 

The block a pillow of eternal rest ; 
My headman cast me in a blissful swound, 

His axe cut off my cares from cumber'd breast. 

Eue not my death, rejoice at my repose ; 

It was no death to me, but to my woe ; 
The bud was open'd to let out the rose. 

The chains unloosed to let the captive go. 

A prince by birth, a prisoner by mishap, 

From crown to cross, from throne to thrall I fell ; 

My right my ruth, my titles wrought my trap. 
My weal my woe, my worldly heaven my hell. 

By death from prisoner to a prince enhanced. 
From cross to crown, from thrall to throne again ; 

My ruth my right, my trap my style advanced 
From woe to weal, from hell to heavenly reign. 



155 




I DIE WITHOUT DESEET * 
[Addl. MSS. Brit. Mus. No. 10,422.] 

' F orphan child, enwrapt in swathing 
bands, 
Doth move to mercy when forlorn 
it lies ; 

If none without remorse of love withstands 
The piteous noise of infant's silly cries ; 
Then hope, my helpless heart, some tender cares 
WiU rue thy orphan state and feeble tears. 

EeUnquish'd lamb, in solitary wood, 

With dying bleat doth move the toughest mind ; 
The gasping pangs of new engendered brood. 

Base though they be, compassion use to find : 
Why should I then of pity doubt to speed, 
Whose hap would force the hardest heart to bleed ? 

Left orphan-like in helpless state I rue, 
With only sighs and tears I plead my case ; 

My dying plaints I daily do renew. 

And fill with heavy noise a desert place : 

* Presumed to be on the same subject. 



156 / DIE WITHOUT DEBEET, 

Some tender heart will weep to hear mj moan ; 
Men pity may, but help me God alone ! 

Rain down^ ye heavens, your tears this ease requires ; 

Man's eyes unable are enough to shed ; 
If sorrows could have place in heavenly quires, 

A juster ground the world hath seldom bred : 
For right is wrong, and virtue waged with blood ; 
The bad are bless'd, God murder'd in the good. 

A gracious plant for fruit, for leaf and flower, 
A peerless gem for virtue, proof, and price, 

A noble peer for prowess, will, and power, 
A friend to truth, a foe I was to vice ; 

And lo ! alas ! now innocent I die, 

A case that might make even the stones to cry. 

Thus fortune's favours still are bent to flight, 
Thus worldly bliss in final bale doth end ; 

Thus virtue still pursued is with spite. 

But let my fate though rueful none offend : 

God doth sometimes crop first the sweetest flower. 

And leave the weed till time do it devour. 



157 




OF THE BLESSED SACEAIMEIS^T OF THE 
ALTAE. 

[Addl. MSS. Brit. Mus. ^o. 10,422.] 

?X paschal feast, the end of ancient rite, 
An entrance to never-ending grace, 
Types to the truth, dim gleams to the 
light. 

Performing deed presaging signs did chase : 
Christ's final meal was fountain of oiu? good. 
For mortal meat He gave immortal food. 

That which He gave He was, oh, peerless gift ! 

Both God and man He was, and both He gave. 
He in His hands Himself did truly lift. 

Far off they see whom in themselves they have ; 
Twelve did He feed, twelve did theh feeder eat. 
He made. He dress'd. He gave. He was then* meat. 

They saw, they heard, they felt Him sitting near, 
Unseen, unfelt, unheard, they Him received ; 

Xo diverse thing, though diverse it appear, 
Though senses fail, yet faith is not deceived ; 

And if the wonder of their work be new. 

Believe the worker 'cause His word is true. 



158 OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT 

Here truth belief, belief inviteth love, 
So sweet a truth love never yet enjoy'd ; 

What thought can think, what will doth best approve, 
Is here obtained where no desire is void : 

The grace, the joy, the treasure here is such, 

No wit can wish, nor will embrace so much. 

Self-love here cannot crave more than it finds ; 

Ambition to no higher worth aspire ; 
The eagerest famine of most hungry minds 

May fill, yea far exceed, their own desire : 
In sum here is all in a sum express'd. 
Of which the most of every good the best. 

To ravish eyes here heavenly beauties are ; 

To win the ear sweet music's sweetest sound ; 
To lure the taste the angels' heavenly fare ; 

To soothe the scent divine perfumes abound ; 
To please the touch He in our hearts doth bed, 
Whose touch doth cure the deaf, the dumb, the dead. 

Here to delight the will true wisdom is ; 

To woo the wiU of every good the choice ; 
For memory a mirror showing bliss. 

Here all that can both sense and soul rejoice ; 
And if to all, all this it doth not bring. 
The fault is in the men, not in the thing. 



OF THE ALTAE. 159 

Though blind men see no light, the sun doth shine ; 

Sweet cates are sweet, though fever'd tastes deny it; 
Pearls precious are, though trodden on by swine ; 

Each truth is true, though all men do not try it ; 
The best still to the bad doth work the worst ; 
Things bred to bhss do make the more accm-sed. 

The angels' eyes, whom veils cannot deceive, 
Might best disclose that best they did discern ; 

Men must with sound and silent faith receive 
More than they can by sense or reason learn ; 

God's power our proofs. His works our wit exceed. 

The doer's might is reason of His deed. 

A body is endow'd with ghostly rights ; 

A nature's work from nature's law is free ; 
In heavenly sun lie hid eternal lights. 

Lights clear and near, yet them no eye can see : 
Dead forms a never-dying life do shroud ; 
A boundless sea lies in a little cloud. 

The God of hosts in slender host doth dwell, 
Yea, God and man with all to either due ; 

That God that rules the heavens and rifled hell, 
That man whose death did us to Hfe renew ; 

That God and man that is the angels' bhss, 

In form of bread and wine our nature is. 



160 OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. 

Whole may His body be in smallest bread, 

"Whole in the whole, yea whole in every crumb ; 

With which be one or [even] ten thousand fed, 
All to each one, to all but one doth come ; 

And though each one as much as all receive, 

Not one too much, nor all too little have. 

One soul in mau is all in every part ; 

One face at once in many mirrors shines ; 
One fearful noise doth make a thousand start ; 

One eye at once of countless things defines ; 
If proofs of one in many Nature frame, 
God may in stronger sort perform the same. 

God present is at once in every place. 
Yet God in every place is ever one ; 

So may there be by gifts of ghostly grace, 
One man in many rooms, yet filling none ; 

Sith angels may effects of bodies show, 

God angels' gifts on bodies may bestow. 

What God as author made He alter may ; 

No change so hard as making all of nought ; 
If Adam framed were of slimy clay, 

Bread may to Christ's most sacred flesh be wrought : 
He may do this that made with mighty hand 
Of water wine, a snake of Moses's wand. 



161 




THE DEATH OP OUE LADY. 

[Addl. MSS. Brit. Mus. No. 10,422.] 

-EEP, living things, of life the mother 
dies; 
The world doth lose the sum of all 
her hliss, 
The queen of earth, the empress of the skies ; ^^ 

Bj Mary's death mankind an orphan is : 
Let nature weep, yea, let all graces moan, 
Their glory, grace, and gifts die all in one. 

It was no death to her, but to her woe. 

By which her joys began, her griefs did end ; 

Death was to her a friend, to us a foe, 

Life of whose Hves did on her life depend : 

Not prey of death, but praise to death she was, 

Whose ugly shape seem'd glorious in her face. 

Her face a heaven, two planets were her eyes. 
Whose gracious light did make our clearest day ; 

But one such heaven there was and lo ! it dies, 
Death's dark eclipse hath dimmed every ray ; 

Such eyed the hght thy beams untimely shine, 

True light sith we have lost, we crave not thine. 

M 



162 




^ t THE ASSUMPTION OF OUE LADY. 

[Addl, MSS. Brit. Mus. No. 10,422.] 

JF sin be captive, grace must find release ; 
From curse of sin the innocent is free ; 
1 Tomb prison is for sinners that decease, 
No tomb but throne to guiltless doth 
agree : 
Though thralls of sin lie lingering in the grave, 
Yet faultless corse with soul reward must have. 

The dazzled eye doth dimmed light require, 
And dying sights repose in shrouding shades ; 

But eagles' eyes to brightest light aspire, 
And hving looks delight in lofty glades : 

Faint-winged fowl by ground do faintly fly, 
■^Our princely eagle mounts unto the sky. 

Gem to her worth, spouse to her love ascends, 
Prince to her throne, queen to her heavenly King, 

Whose court with solemn pomp on her attends, 
And quires of saints with greeting notes do sing ; 

Earth rendereth up her undeserved prey, 

Heaven claims the right, and bears the prize away. 




163 



CHEESES APPEiS^DED TO "THE TEIUMPHS 
OVEE DEATH." 

' LAEA duciim soboles, superis nova 
sedibus hospes, 
Clausit inoffenso tramite purse diem : 
Dotibus ornavit, superavit moribiis 
ortum, 
Omnibus una prior, parfuit una sibi : 
Lux genus ingenio, generi lux inclita virtus 

Yirtutisque fuit mens generosa decus. 
Mors muta at properatse dies orbemque relinquit, 

Prolem matre verum conjuge flore genus, 
Oecidit a se alium tulit hie occasus in ortum, 
Yivat, ad oeciduas non reditura vices. 

Of Howard's stem a glorious branch is dead. 
Sweet lights eclipsed were at her decease ; 

In Buckhurst' line she gracious issue spread, 

She heaven vrith two, with four did earth increase. 

Fame, honom-, grace, gave air unto her breath, 

Eest, glory, jovs, were sequels of her death. 

Death aim'd too high, he hit too choice a Avight, 
Eenown'd for birth, for life, for lovely parts ; 



164 VERSES. 

He kill'd her cares, lie brought her worths to light, 
He robb'd our eyes, but hath enrich'd our hearts : 
Lot let out of her ark a Noah's dove, 
But many hearts were arks unto her love. 

Grace, Nature, Fortune, did in her conspire 
To show a proof of their united skill : 

Sly Fortune, ever false, did soon retire. 

But double grace supphed false Fortune's ill. 

And though she wrought not unto Fortune's pitch, 

In grace and virtue few were found so rich. 

Heaven of this heavenly pearl is now possess'd, 
Whose lustre was the blaze of honour's light, 

^Tiose substance pure of every good the best, 
Whose price the crown of [every] highest right ; 

Whose praise, to be herself ; whose greatest bliss. 

To live, to love, to be where now she is. 




165 



\t:eses peefixed to ^ shoet eules 
of good life/' addeessed to 

THE CHRISTIAN READER. 




I. 

F Tii'tue be thy guide, 
True comfort is thy path, 
And thou secure fi^om erring steps, 
That lead to veno-eance wi-ath. 



IN'ot widest open door, 

Nor spacious ways she goes ; 
To straight and narrow gate and way 

She calls, she leads, she shows. 

She calls, the fewest come ; 

She leads the humble sprited, 
She shows them rest at race's end. 

Souls' rest to heaven invited. 



'Tis she that offers most ; 

'Tis she that most refuse ; 
'Tis she prevents the broad way plagues, 

Which most do \\ilfiil choose. 



166 VEBSES PEEFIXED TO 

Do choose the wide, the broad, 
The left-hand way and gate : 

These Vice applauds, these Virtue loathes, 
And teacheth hers to hate. 

Her ways are pleasant ways, 

Upon the right-hand side ; 
And heavenly happy is that soul 

Takes Virtue for her guide. 



II. 
A Pbepabative to Prayer. 

WHEN" thou dost talk with God, (by prayer 
I mean,) 
Lift up pure hands, lay down all lust's desires, 
Fix thoughts on heaven, present a conscience clear ; 

Such holy blame to mercy's throne aspires. 
Confess faults' guilt, crave pardon for thy sin ; 
Tread holy paths, call grace to guide therein. 

It is the spirit with reverence must obey 

Our Maker's will, to practise what He taught ; 

Make not the flesh thy counsel when thou pray, 
'Tis enemy to every virtuous thought ; 



" SHORT RULES OF GOOD LIFEr 167 

It is the foe we daily feed and clothe, 
It is the prison that the soul doth loathe. 

Even as Elias, mounting to the sky, 
Did cast his mantle to the earth behind, 

So, when the heaii; presents the prayer on high, 
Exclude the world from traffic with the mind. 

Lips near to God, and ranging heart within. 

Is but vain babbhno; and converts to sin. 

Like Abraham, ascending up the hiU 

To sacrifice, his servant left below. 
That he might act the great Commander's will, 

Without impeach to his obedient blow ; 
Even so the soul, remote from earthly things, 
Should mount salvation's shelter, mercy's wings. 



III. 

The Effects of Prayer. 

THE sun by prayer did cease his course and staid; 
The hungry lions fawn'd upon their prey ; 
A walled passage through the sea it made ; 
Erom furious £Lre it banish'd heat away ; 
It shut the heavens three years from giving rain. 
It open'd heavens, and clouds pour'd down again. 



L4 

168 VERSES. ..r^c ^ 



lY. 

Ensamples of our Saviour. 

/^UE Saviour, (pattern of true holiness,) 

^-^ Continual pray'd, us bj ensample teaeting, 

When he was baptized in the wilderness, 

In working miracles and in his preaching, 
Upon the mount, in garden groves of death, 
At his last supper, at his parting breath. 

Oh ! fortress of the faithful, sure defence, 
In which doth Christians' cognizance consist ; 

Their victory, their triumph comes from thence, 
So forcible, hell-gates cannot resist : 

A thing whereby both angels, clouds and stars, 

At man's request fight God's revengeful wars. 

Nothing more grateful in the highest eyes, 
Nothing more firm in danger to protect us, 

Nothing more forcible to pierce the skies, 
And not depart till mercy do respect us : 

And, as the soul life to the body gives, 

So prayer revives the soul, by prayer it lives. 



CHISWICK PRESS :— PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM, 
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. 



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